


Pinefell: An Exerpt from "An Exemplary Fate", by Icarus E.

by SuperStranger



Category: Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comedy, Fantasy, Gen, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 12:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20675294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperStranger/pseuds/SuperStranger
Summary: Icarus Emberwing - wyvaran gunslinger, demon hunter, ex-pirate. He's dumb, he's cocky, and he's only got one thing on his mind: finding and killing some big sonovabitch demon.A short story taking place on the outskirts of two towns; the bustling town of Little Ivywood, and the small village of Pinefell. Are the whispered rumors of demons true? How far will Icarus and his ally go to finally seek the ones they've been searching for? How many chicken wings can Icarus fit in his mouth? All these questions - and more - will be answered.





	Pinefell: An Exerpt from "An Exemplary Fate", by Icarus E.

[An excerpt from An Exemplary Fate: The Fantastic Travels of Icarus Emberwing, to be published – most likely – posthumously, in the inevitable event of his sudden and violent death at the hands of gods-knows-what]

Night, Day 1

I sat at the bar of the Hooded Fox, chewing through a dozen deep fried cockatrice wings. I wasn't particularly hungry, but taverns are the most reliable and cheapest sources of information in my experience. My investigation into the demon known as Kazzerath had brought me there, to Little Ivywood. The only evidence that this demon even existed was the painting that still haunted my dreams with a primeval force beyond my understanding. Its death was the only thing that would bring me peace of mind. 

And so, I searched.

Little Ivywood is a trading town, despite its location deep in the heart of the Nightfen woods to the West. The many skilled tradespeople and artisans who live there consistently draw a steady flow of traffic to the city. Smiths, alchemists, enchanters, and many, many other professions had found haven in Ivywood, with the time and the resources to ply their craft as they please. The local economy had boomed as a result. However, the woods there are covered in a perpetual blanket of darkness, and thick with beasts of all sorts. The only ways into the town are by flight, or by gaining safe passage through the woods with a capable guard. If you're in Little Ivywood at all, you're either skilled, rich, or strong.

I managed to hitch a ride here on an armored wagon by offering my services as a bodyguard. I didn't believe I was fully qualified. The merchant that hired me didn't think so either. But I had a gun and he didn't, and at my low prices, he couldn't say no. It's a dangerous place out here, after all. 

The tavern bustled with activity, with most tables occupied by groups of patrons all swapping stories and discussing plans for future endeavors. Most folk in here had some kind of weapon visible on their person, and some wore heavy armors like chain shirts or splint mail. A thickly built halfling at the table behind me was outfitted in full platemail, his hammer at his side. He gave a hearty laugh and slammed a fist on the table, clearly drunk. A few servers walked about, delivering meals, drinks, and chatting with the customers. Rumors flew all about, but none sparked my interest; I had already set my sights on a target, and I wouldn't be distracted.

Halfway into my food, I eyed the barkeep, a stiff looking tengu named Prinn. He was speaking warmly to a tattered and emotive group of ragtag rangers, but I waved a few gold pieces in the air and he calmly excused himself. The rangers deflated a bit, but turned and ran off before the barkeep had made his way toward me. One of them shouted as they left, “keep it in yer purse, ya' snot-hide wyveran.” Piss off, my hide is a lovely verdant green, I thought to myself. I set the coins one at a time down on the polished counter with a satisfying clink-clink-clink.

“Enjoying the food, my boy?”

“These aren't real cockatrice wings, right? They're way too small. It's gotta just be chicken.”

Prinn smiled knowingly. “That is a trade secret, I'm afraid. Another batch?”

“Yes please,” I said, my mouth full.

He turned back and disappeared behind the kitchen doors, his well-groomed black feathers shining in the light as he went. After returning with another dozen wings, I swallowed my food and grilled the barkeep for information. Standard practice.

“I'm looking for something here. Any rumors catch your attention recently?”

“Sure,” he said. “I hear things, you know. In fact, several patrons tonight are here to visit a merchant that recently arrived in town. Some are saying that he deals in extremely deadly poisons–“

“Nah, I'm looking for something outside the city. Whaddya got?” I said, sliding across a few more coins.

Prinn swiped up the coins expertly with nonchalance. “There's an open adventuring party leaving tomorrow. They seek an ancient obelisk inlaid with gemstones in the Witchlight Basin. Apparently its power has enchanted a giant albino spider spotted on the trail recently. The merchants attacked by it say that it's eyes are like glowing ice, and it's venom-”

“Pass.” I bit into another wing, ripping the juicy flesh and wolfing it down. “I'm looking for something more, uh, extraplanar. Yeah?”

Prinn eyed me warily. “Well, I don't believe I've heard anything recently. What are you looking for, specifically?”

“I'm looking for a demon, actually. I heard there's somebody around here that deals with them.”

The barkeep scowled, and his eyes looked through me. His enthusiasm seemed to vanish at the word 'demon'. “I see people come and go through here every day. The ones asking about demons tend not to come back. A lot of information comes through this bar, and if it's concerning demons, I can only say that you would be wise to forget whatever you've heard.”

Before coming to Ivywood, my pockets had been nearly empty. The escort job I took on the way here had paid me, but not well. Nevertheless, I needed information, and gold was the fastest and most reliable way to get it. I emptied another ten pieces out onto the counter, spreading them out. “I'm not here for the chicken, Prinn. I need something, anything.”

He stared at the coins for a few long seconds. He looked up at me. “Sorry, my silence has been bought already. Breaking that silence comes with a heavy price.”

We locked eyes, sensing each other's intent. Even against the racket of the tavern, the silence between us was louder. My heartbeat boomed in my ears.

Prinn reached over and put two manicured talons on two of my coins, pulling them closer to him. He pushed the rest back to me. “I've seen a lot of things in my time, but I've never seen a half-orc in a tavern without a drink. Her name is Agren Kurdosh. She's been coming in here over the last three days, ordering food and chatting up the locals. Often she just sits quietly to herself, sometimes for several hours at a time. But she tips well, so I've left her alone.”

“This Agren person, she knows something?”

“Apparently she's been asking the same questions as you, searching all around town. Looking for demons.” Prinn shook his head. “You what they say about misery?”

I grin. “She sounds like fine company. Where is she now?”

“She left about twenty minutes ago. Light gray-green skin, dressed in blue, gold, and white armor. A wild black ponytail. If you hurry, you might still catch her.”

“Yes! That's my man!” I scooped up the money Prinn didn't take. I grabbed three or four “cockatrice” wings in one hand and turned to leave.

“Don't do anything too stupid now.”

My mouth still full of food, I turned back as I ran, shouting, “Like hell I won't!”

* * *

The night air was sweet and humid. The forests that surrounded the town gave off a fresh green fragrance that soothed the spirit. Even though dusk had set, merchants and shoppers still milled about the market in the center of the town where the Hooded Fox was constructed.

Spinning, I singled out the first person I could see, nearly yelling, “Have you seen a half orc come through here? She's wearing-”

Before I could finish, a loud crash echoed up around the low buildings in the plaza nearby. I turned and ran for it, feeling a hunch.

As I rounded the corner to the street beside me, using my wide wings to push me along faster than my feet could carry, I saw a crowd quickly growing around one of the stalls. This area was central to Ivywood's commerce. Lots of eyes, and lots of guards. A bad place to make a scene. I ran to get a closer look.

The small crowd parted as I pushed past three or four or ten people, most of them vocalizing disdain at my necessary roughness. Sure enough, a half-orc matching Prinn's description was holding down a slender elven merchant by his shoulder, shouting something unintelligible. The merchant was pinned against his own market stall, scared and shaken. Various fine-looking hats and cloaks had been scattered to the ground around them. Agren's face was hardened and wild. In her right hand she wielded her scimitar, which was pressed up against the half-elf's neck and drawing a small amount of blood. Five guards gathered around the stall, weapons drawn, commanding her to stand down or be killed. A second merchant – dwarven – cowered beside Agren and her captive, frozen in fear, silently pleading for this all to be over.

“I will not be tested! Reveal your allies to me! They will be smitten by my holy retribution, I swear it!” Agren shouted, causing the merchant to whimper. Despite his quivering, the scimitar held carefully firm against his skin, like a surgeon's knife.

A human guard stepped forward carefully, bringing herself almost into the half-orc's slicing range. Based on the markings on her armor, as well as her level demeanor, she seemed to be the authority in this group. “Release the man, and you won't be hurt. Otherwise, things will get ugly.” Her shield raised and her sword arm tensed; she was a bit nervous, not for herself, but for the innocent life she was trying to save.

“Do none of you see? This man is-” before she could finish her sentence, one of the guards – who had been slowly inching closer – suddenly lunged. A flurry of movement took place. Agren spun, brandishing her blade against the hasty attacker, glancing a heavy blow off the side of his armor and causing him to wince. His weapon arced uselessly in front of him. Another guard rushed into a tackle with his shield, moving Agren hardly an inch. She roared. As her attention was caught, she lifted her hand off the elven merchant's shoulder, and he remained laid over the table where he was, covering his head with both arms. The second merchant bolted, body ducked low.

Every guard was upon the half-orc in a second. Suffering minor wounds, they disarmed her as she roared and writhed, the negotiator finally pinning her down and shackling manacles onto her wrists. “We're taking you back to the lockup, and you can explain to me exactly what you think you were doing.” The gathered crowd backed away somewhat during the fight, but remained to see what would transpire. Now that the threat was neutralized, they all crept forward, slowly.

“How can none of you see?” Agren shouted, spittle flying. “That man is a demon! A great evil descends upon this town!”

Most of the crowd looked confused, or worried. Some laughed. One or two gave the same look of nervous discomfort that Prinn gave me only minutes earlier. Upon hearing the word “demon”, I perked up. This was the lead I needed, and I wouldn't let it rot in a jail cell. I stepped forward out of the crowd as the guards led Agren to her feet.

“Agren, I've been looking for you. A little bird told me you'd be here.”

The leader-seeming human turned to me. She raised a hand to her cohorts, who paused their march. “Excuse me, do you know this woman?” 

“Yeah, I've got some very, very important business with her, actually.” At this, Agren gaped at me, brow furrowed. “Mind if I have a quick word with her?”

“Yes, actually,” the human said. “We do mind. This one needs to be processed and questioned. She'll be spending the night in a holding cell before you can do any kind of business with her.” She raised a hand and her troops kept walking. With the violent commotion finally settled, the small crowd began to disperse.

Realizing that I wasn't going to able to persuade her, I decided to explore another line of questioning. “Where are you holding her, actually? I'll swing by tomorrow morning, first thing.”

“Doesn't bother me either way. The barracks is on the east side, near the town gates. Ask for Captain Reza, that's me. I'll be there.”

I smiled at her. “Reza, is it? I'll see you soon then.” I reached out a scaly green hand for a friendly handshake. “Bright and early.”

“Hmm.” She gave me a disparaging smile and turned away, walking off with her troop. Agren shook and butted against her captors to no avail, eastward.

The captain of the guard doesn't like me, but then again, who does? I had my lead, and the half-orc would still be there come morning, ripe for questioning. For now, there were still two battered merchants to squeeze for information.

The merchants took some time with the one guard left behind, who frantically scribbled on a small notepad, looking up and down as they gestured and yelled beside their battered stall. After a short while, he held up a reassuring hand and quieted them, pocketing his notebook. The dwarf frowned and tucked his hands into his armpits. The elf wrinkled his nose and pushed up his sleeves, looking past the guard. The guard left, and they chatted to themselves sharply while picking up some lightly crushed hats and stamped-on capes and little bits that had been strewn about in the scuffle.

“Terrible, what happened just now. I had just set my mind to buying one of your fine cloaks when I heard the scuffle from across the way.” I stooped down beside them. “Sorry, would you like a hand, gentlemen?”

“No, thank you,” the elf hissed. “We're absolutely fine.”

“Nellen, don't be an ass,” the dwarf said. “Of course, we'd appreciate it. Thank you, sir.”

I did feel a bit sorry for the two of them. When all was said and done, the guards likely did more damage to the merchants' wares than anyone else. The delicate feathers and glass beading on the fallen hats had not survived the hasty tread of armored boots.

With all the most valuable stuff off the ground, the elf – Nellen, apparently – began inspecting the damage, beating dirty footprints off a nicely embroidered shawl. The dwarf turned to me with a hand outstretched. “I'm Urdrin, the designer. Mighty kind of ye' to help.”

I took his hand, firm but kind. “Not a problem. I hate to see honest business attracting riff-raff like that.” The dwarf had shit taste in clothing. Like a parody druid couture. Flowery spirals and muddy blues and greens. Leaves and twigs stuck on haphazardly. Clay bear teeth and tiny bones. I wouldn't be caught dead wearing something so ridiculous. “I had been looking forward to buying one of your wonderful creations. It's a shame they've been torn up like this.”

“Not a problem. Nellen has the fastest hands in Little Ivywood. We'll be back up and running tomorrow afternoon, and no later. Isn't that right?”

Nellen looked over at me, and then at his partner. He ran a hand through his hair, fixing the tangles. “If you'd spent less time chatting and more time helping, we could do it in a few hours, I'd wager. Regardless, we have our monthly meeting in Pinefell to make. Unless you've forgotten?”

My eyes wandered to his arm, his sleeve still rolled up to his elbow. A bright red handprint wrapped around his forearm, like a nasty burn. He quickly looked away and turned around, attending to his stall, furtively pushing both his sleeves back down.

“Oh, right! 'Course I hadn't forgotten,” Urdrin said, in a I'd-totally-forgotten way.

“What did that half-orc want with you, anyway?” I asked. “Haggling gone wrong?”

Urdrin frowned. “I-I dunno. Wish I could tell ye'. Saw her stalkin' around the past few days, but she never approached us. Today she walks straight up to the counter and starts threatenin' my partner here, yelling some nonsense 'bout purgin' the wickedness from this town.” He shook his head. “Dreadful stuff. Maybe she's been driven mad. She walked the whole way here from the Ferncrest Dale, I heard. The monsters in these woods can do some frightful stuff to travelers. Mess with their heads.”

“So I hear. Is that how you got that burn mark on your arm, Nellen?” I said, with a challenging look. “Scary monster?”

“Something like that, yes.” His expression darkened.

An awkward silence descended. Urdrin fidgeted. “Well, if you'd like, you can have a pick at some of our more damaged stock. As thanks for helpin' out. 

I kept a neutral stare on Nellen. “That all right? I'd hate to impose.” He eyed me like a rat in a trap. 

“Nah, it's nuthin',” Urdrin said. “Even if we repaired them, we'd likely have to sell 'em at cost anyway. Even if you stitch 'em back up, they'll never be like new again.”

I looked at the cloaks hanging on the rack beside him. “Thanks, but you really don't have to-” then I stopped, looking past him. On the ground, I spotted a grey-brown cloak, the collar rimmed with black fur. It was hooded, with the peak of the hood coming down in a v-shape. Blades of grass poked through the half dozen slash marks that crossed the back of it, and it was thoroughly dirtied and scuffed up from the scuffle. It was ratty as hell. Didn't even look finished.

However, the gleam of a golden shape sticking out from underneath the cloak made me rush over to it, and snatch it up. I deftly pocketed the small object as I turned to Urdrin, none the wiser. 

“I want this one,” I said, lifting up the cloak.

“Oh, uh,” Urdrin said, squinting. “That one? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I like it.”

“If you insist, I could have Nellen fix it up for you by tomorr-”

“No need. Save the manpower to get your shop running again.” And I didn't want that elf touching my cloak, either. He didn't like me already. Probably'd sew something rotten into the lining. Or worse, he'd add beads.

Urdrin picked up the cloak, dusted it off in vain, and handed it to me. I wrapped it around myself. The clasp was simple string, looped with a small tooth like a tiny boar tusk. I fixed it on.

“Well, stop by any time, my friend,” he said.

“I will.” I wouldn't.

* * *

Morning, Day 2

Little Ivywood was a town where time felt like it had little bearing on the world. The canopy of trees that enveloped the town was thick, and the difference in light levels between midday and midnight were not very pronounced. Even while the sun shone somewhere far overhead, out of sight, lanterns still burned at every corner, illuminating the town's natural greenish-blue shade in intermittent reddish bursts. However, thin spears of sunlight did occasionally filter through the trees to pierce the ground, appearing and disappearing as the forest's trees swayed with a rolling breeze that tangled and shook the leaves around us.

Shit, I overslept.

I pounded through the bustling streets of Little Ivywood, quickly chewing through a hunk of bread, trying not to crash into anybody. I had one lead so far, and I'd already fucked it up before the day even started. I had to see the captain. Hopefully she hadn't released that half-orc from holding yet.

Five minutes passed before I nearly collapsed, panting, on the front desk of the city watch.

“No, the half-orc was processed this morning. Bright and early.” The lightly armored guard at the desk said this matter-of-factly, with no sense of pity.

“I need to speak to Captain, uh, what's-her-name.”

“Reza,” she said flatly. “The captain is out at the moment. She's clearing the main road, as she does every morning. She'll be back in about two hours. You're more than welcome to take a seat and wait.”

“Where did the half-orc go? Did she say?”

“If she did, I wasn't here for it. The captain starts her day early. Earlier than me. I only have the report.”

“Can I see it?”

A crack of emotion finally came through her face. Annoyance? Amusement? Dismay? “The internal records of the Ivywood guards are not for civilian reference. Criminal information we collect and maintain is confidential and only to be redistributed at the request of a high ranking military authority or minister of a recognized ruling court.”

“...”

“No, you can't see it.”

“But why noooot?”

“Sir, we are not a library. We cannot go handing out peoples' records of criminal offense to anybody who asks.”

Still slightly out of breath from the run there, I leaned on the desk in an attempt to be casual. I lowered my voice. “What if I asked... nicely?” I slid ten gold pieces across the counter. They jangled.

Her eyes narrowed. “Sir, if you are attempting to bribe me-”

“Very nicely?” I slid across ten more.

She stopped. Looked up at me, then down at the money.

I grinned at her sheepishly. I knew I only had about five coins left in my pocket, and I would've very much liked to save them.

She took the money, counted it quickly, and pocketed it. “The half-orc left town three and a half hours ago. She was fined and processed this morning, and escorted out of town by four guards. She was given a light fee to replace the damages she's caused, as well as a modest charge for disturbing the peace and threatening a citizen with a weapon unprovoked. We had several eye witnesses to confirm this. She has been barred for entering the city for a span of three days, and is subject to a further fine and possible jail time if she violates the conditions of her agreement.”

“She almost killed someone and she just had to cough up a little money? That doesn't seem too bad, actually.”

“Apparently, this woman has shown proper documentation which affiliates her with a government sanctioned and formally established religious group, granting her a somewhat reduced penalty to the violent and disruptive actions she has taken recently.” She paused, souring. “We are required to abide by these stipulations in accordance to section nine, subsection eleven of-”

“Yeah, I get it, she left town. I'm on the clock, and I didn't pay you twenty gold to bore me to death. Where'd she go?”

“Unfortunately, the report doesn't say.”

“Whaddya mean 'the report doesn't say'? I need to find her!”

“I am sorry,” she said, not sounding at all sorry. “But I don't know where she is, if that's what you're asking.”

“I want my money back, then. If you can't tell me the one thing I need to know, you shouldn't have led me on.”

She gave me a small, polite smile. “Sir, I'd like to remind you where you are standing.” The armed and armored woman at the desk gestured around the barracks. The light glinted off the other soldiers' rough steel armor as a group of them were being briefed about new monsters sighted in the woods. Some of them sharpened their weapons. 

“Additionally, I would also like to remind you that bribing any member in a position of official law enforcement is very blatantly illegal, as well as very stupid.”

“Well, uh... It's also illegal to take a bribe, isn't it?” I could feel myself starting to sweat. I willed the sweat away, to no effect.

“Yes, and as such, this money will be deposited directly into evidence holding until it is needed to prove the guilt or innocence of an individual suspected of bribery.” She shuffled some papers in front of her and stowed them away in her desk. She maintained eye contact. “Can I help you with anything else today?”

“But-”

“Excellent. Please leave.”

I left before she could see me sweat. Never let them see you sweat, as the saying goes. Of course, I was sweating from the run over there, but that was workout sweat, not nervous sweat. That's two different kinds of sweat. The first kind is okay.

I emerged from the barracks, swearing and kicking. I was lost. Out of leads, and out of options. Pretty much flat broke, to boot. Basically I was screwed, unless I managed to buy some niche antique piece from a junk sale and flip it for a profit. Or nick something from a shop and try to resell it. Or shakedown somebody for all their cash on the trails around the town. Or- 

“Sir, you doing alright?” a guard standing watch outside the building asked me.

“No, I'm not. Unless you know where that sharply dressed half-orc ran off to this morning.”

“Oh, Agren? Nice lady. Well, once she'd calmed down and stopped tryin' to hack our faces off, that is!” He laughed, in a way that was too pleasantly dull to process a dangerous situation. “Took her out by the west gate bright and early this morning around half past five o' clock with Anton, Martan, and Brithe, I did. Isn't that right, Martan?” The guard nodded to a roughly shaven man in identical armor across from him, standing on my opposite flank by the doorway.

“Eneth, you talk too much,” he sighed.

“Ah, look at me going off again! Sorry about that, friend,” the man named Eneth said to me. “You probably don't care too much about the humdrum we go through in a day. Removing the rabble and the rowdy and lawbreakers. It's a living though, sure is!”

“Eneth, that's enough,” said roughly shaven man. “Leave the poor fellow alone.”

“But she said she was headed west-north-west to Pinefell, she did!” Eneth continued. “Can't imagine why. It's dreadful out there! More creatures out that way than any other. Gotta assign extra shifts to that route twice a week to keep the road clear, ain't that right, Anton? Pain in my neck I'll tell ya. Er, you okay, sir?”

I heard him dimly, against the memory of twenty clinking gold coins that I'd never see again. “No, I'm listening,” I said, shaking my head. “Uh, could you point me the way?”

* * *

Afternoon, Day 2

The way was dark and foreboding. The thick canopy of trees pressed down like a sheet, threatening to crush the path beneath with its dark presence. I had lit my hooded lantern, holding it out in my left hand. Even if I had dropped it, the wetness of the air would have snuffed the flame before the fire caught, I'm sure.

In my other hand I held the golden amulet that Agren dropped in her scuffle yesterday, tracing my thumb along its finely crafted curves and edges. I could have pawned it before I left. I would have, if I was smart. But somehow I felt that it would be a more valuable bargaining chip than a handful of gold.

The piece was about the length of my hand, maybe a bit smaller. It depicted an angelic figure, with the lower body tapering to a narrow “V” shape, and the wings outstretched above it, coming together in an oval shape above the body. It was simple and elegant. When I focused, I swear the angel seemed to grow warmer in my palm. Probably just my imagination.

A thick row of hedge-like bushes rustled about ten feet to my left, off the path. Definitely not my imagination. I drew my gun, waiting for some awful creature to leap from the shrubbery. Five seconds, ten seconds passed.

“Put that thing away before I break your arm off,” the shrub answered.

Shrubs didn't usually give in to intimidation tactics, but I suspected the ones that did had to be more agreeable than most other shrubs. I holstered my weapon. “Who goes there?”

“Shut up and get down,” the voice said. It was gruff and familiar. “You're going to blow my cover, idiot.”

Without a word, I dove into the bushes, around the source of the noise. Sure enough, as I emerged on the other side, I was greeted to a familiar face: the armored half-orc, Agren.

“Well, this is a surprise,” I whispered. “Just the person I was looking for.”

She looked a bit worse for wear. Haggard, tired, and intense, her clothes thatched with sticks and leaves. “You were there when the guards were dragging me off. You knew my name. What do you want? I've no business with you.”

I smiled, maybe too wide. “Well I've got business with you. If you're in the business of demon hunting, that is.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. She obviously didn't trust me. Which, totally fair.

“You might have business with me too, actually.” I showed her the golden angel.

Agren lunged to grab it, but I was just a bit faster. She grunted. “Give that back. It's mine.”

“Not until you tell me what you're doing here. You don't look like the stealthy sneaky type to me. I can't imagine you came all the way out here to camp out in some bushes for fun.”

“Not a chance. You could be working with-” She stopped talking and raised her ear.

“I could be what?”

Agren shushed me and pushed my head down. She raised two fingers and motioned for me to keep my eyes on the trail. I followed her lead, quieting. We watched.

The bushes gave us good cover, but you really had to get at just right angle in order to see anything past the leaves. I shimmied and found a small crack to peek through, not even an inch wide. A minute went by, and sure enough, there were two voices coming down the trail. They were the elven and dwarven shopkeepers, Nellen and Urdrin.

I could hear them talking quietly to themselves, but I couldn't make out any words until they got about thirty feet into range. Agren struggled to stay totally still, her body making minor, abrupt shifts, like a cat preparing to pounce.

“I don't think it's that big of a deal, Nellen,” the dwarf said. “It couldn't have waited 'til next week? We just came out here for our tithe yesterday.”

The elf huffed. “Don't be a coward, Urdrin. We need to report this now, before something bigger becomes of it. And you know the creatures in these woods won't attack us. Vizea's blessing makes sure we can get to and from the village without fear.”

“Still makes me uneasy, it does. Even normally I wouldn't feel right in these woods. But I hear rumors that she's been losin' control recently. Things breakin' free from her magic, attacking people from Pinefell.”

“Ridiculous. She wouldn't allow it. Everything would fall apart. There would be chaos.”

“That's what I'm worried about. Maybe we should put together an exit plan, just in case?”

“Leave?” Nellen spat. “Maybe you can turn tail, but I wouldn't get very far, I can assure you.”

“Oh, sorry, right.” Urdrin grew quiet for a moment. “But maybe if we-”

Nellen shushed him, stopping. They stood still, looking around, scanning the trees. Agren and I huddled, not moving, not even breathing.

Nellen sniffed, looked somewhere not exactly in our direction, and whistled. He muttered a few words, and then him and the dwarf were just gone. No light, no sound. Just vanished.

Agren burst from the bushes, shouting and swinging her scimitar recklessly. “Come out and fight, you damn cowards! I'll gut you!”

I stood up from the bushes. “I guess we're not going stealthy any more, then?”

Before Agren could reply, I heard a sound behind me, from the forest. Looking back, I saw a pair of yellow eyes glint in the darkness. Then another. And another.

I fired a shot into the trees. The sound crashed in my ears, falling into the dirt and leaves around us. The eyes darted towards me, emerging as three big patchy white wolves. They streaked out of the trees in a crazed sprint.

They were bigger than normal wolves, their heads coming to my upper chest. Their mottled white and gray fur was matted and tangled and flecked with muck. Easy enough to notice as they bared down on me, their jagged razor teeth were a clean, spotless white. If they weren't about to tear me to shreds I would've asked what their dental routine was.

I held my ground and reloaded a second shot. My first had probably fired wide into the trees, doing nothing more than drawing the anger of the charging beasts. They closed to ten feet, and I fired again, grazing the closest wolf, just barely hitting it. Their movements were non-linear and erratic, and I had trouble keeping a bead on them.

At once, all three of them reached me, and I braced for the feeling of fangs tearing into my hide. However, it never came. Instead, the wolves ran past me, intent on Agren out in the middle of the trail.

She had already turned and readied an attack, meeting the wolves with equal force. One of them tried to bite her directly in the face, but she parried the creature with the sharp side of her sword, landing a gouging blow which sent the thing reeling and howling. The two others flanked her: one gnawing at a bit of her armored breastplate to no avail, but the other striking true with a swiping claw across her side.

“Throw me my symbol, you idiot!” Agren screamed, using both hands to bring her sword down on the wolf in front of her, carving crimson through its snowy hide.

My hands moving faster than my brain, I reloaded and aimed. “Why? What is it?” I fired again, hitting the back of one of the wolves this time. It still held its attention only on Agren. I moved past the bushes, already priming another bullet to get a better aim. Gunplay is always more effective up close I think, when you can see the whites of your enemies' eyes. Er, the yellows, in this case.

The half orc swung in a half circle, fending off two of the wolves, but allowing the third to chomp down on her calf, sinking its teeth in deep.

“Just throw it! Now!”

Hesitating for a half second, I stuck my gun into the bandolier on my chest and pulled out the golden angel, throwing it towards the scuffle.

To my delight, the feet of the angel were tapered a fine point, and the force of my throw was enough to stick one of the beasts with the symbol. It buried in deep, causing the wolf to whimper in pain.

Without dropping a beat, Agren ducked below one of the diving beasts, pivoted, and yanked the symbol from it's side. She clutched the golden idol against her chest and roared, using her sword arm to slice upward at the same time. As she did, the blade erupted in a fierce golden flame, torching the heavily wounded wolf. It cried out and fell silent, smoldering on the forest floor.

With awe and suddenly renewed confidence, I plunged forward into the fray with my gun, firing and reloading in a frenzied dance. Agren and I dodged and weaved around the two remaining wolves, her blazing fire carving a burning target for my barrage of lead bullets. The rush of combat, that waltz of life and death consumed us both. And with a final echoing gunshot, three unnatural wolves were dead at our feet, unmoving.

“Not even a scratch, see?” I said, panting. Battle sweat was different than nervous sweat, too. It was like, the opposite kind of sweat. Way different. 

Agren, still gripping her sword, pointed to my shoulder. “What's that, then? Strawberry jam?”

A five inch gouge was rent into my left side, dripping blood down my leather armor. The adrenaline was wearing away, and now I could feel the sting of the cold, humid air against my wound. “What? No! I had this before the fight. You must of, uh, just, not noticed.”

Agren snorted and sheathed her weapon. She put a hand on my wound, causing me to wince.

“Hey, that's tender! Get your hands-” I gasped. Warm energy flooded into my body, and I felt the wound closing up in seconds on its own accord.

Agren stepped back and looked into my eyes. They were hard, unyielding. But she had done something kind for me, and she expected me to be grateful. I was.

I touched the part of my chest that had been torn open only moments before. Not even a scar. My scales had healed over without even a discernible break in the pattern. “How the hell did you do that? It's amazing.”

She began closing up her own wounds – mostly minor – in much the same way. A golden light filled the air. “Oh ye of little faith, who cannot comprehend the gifts given to us by the gods.”

I laughed. “So you're, what, some kind of priest?”

Agren huffed. Her wounds now healed, she leaned over the bodies of the wolves, casting a hand over them that glowed with the same warm light. She concentrated deeply. 

“You were onto something with that elf, huh? Looked like that bastard actually called the wolves on us, if you can believe it.”

“A great evil lies in these woods. I'm here to find it and destroy it. That man – no, that thing – is part of the larger picture.”

“Hey, I don't like the guy either, but c'mon. Don't dehumanize him. He just wanted us dead. Lots of people want me dead all the time, get used to it.”

Agren didn't respond. The light from her hand shone brightly, casting strange shadows across her face.

“So,” I began a bit awkwardly, “those wolves didn't seem to like you a whole lot. I mean, I was the one who shot at them and they still made a beeline right for you. What's with that, huh? You piss off some wolf god?” 

Agren finished her inspection and cursed under her breath. “Divination magic. These aren't normal wolves. They're elusas.”

“Elusa?”

“Elusa hounds. Used to track and kill magic wielders. They're not usually found in the wild, they're bred and used for a specific purpose. Somebody in these woods doesn't want to be interfered with. So I'm going to find them and do just that.”

“Wait, they've got magic?” I asked warily. “What kind of magic?”

Agren didn't respond. She just started walking onward towards Pinefell once more, like nothing had happened.

“Hey, where are you going?” I asked.

No answer.

“Come on, I just helped save your life! The least you can do is answer me.”

“If you only want answers, fine,” she said, not turning back. “I am a paladin of Sarenrae, here on a mission to destroy a great evil lurking in these forests. You did not just 'help save my life', and your presence impedes this mission.”

“So our reason for being out here is the same.” More or less. Kinda.

“I doubt that very much, tiny dragon.”

“Hey, good things come in small packages.” I ran ahead of her, jogging backwards, so she could see me smirk and lift my flintlock pistol, clicking the hammer back with my thumb.

She narrowed her eyes. “You don't rely on your own strength to fight. Only a coward hides and shoots from the darkness.”

“And only a fool runs at his enemies head-on with one of these instead,” I said, twirling the gun. “But it's worked for me so far. Gotten me here, hasn't it?”

The woman smiled, somehow still scowling. “You are reckless. More stupid than brave. But you may be useful.”

“Look, I'm just trying to kill a demon, and you're the only person who hasn't been tight-lipped about them since I landed in this dank mudhole. So I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”

She stopped. I stopped. She continued. I followed beside her. She made no objections.

“What's your name, scruffy?”

“Icarus Emberwing. Ex pirate, current demon hunter.”

Agren eyed me suspiciously. “Pirate?”

“Ex pirate, yes,“ I admitted. “Trying to get away from that for now. But I've done some things, seen some things. Lived through all of them, unlikely though it might be. And you are?”

“Agren Kurdosh. Ex military, current paladin of Sarenrae.”

“You were a soldier?”

“Ex soldier. Didn't work out. They had some bias toward half orcs. Didn't let me advance up the ranks when I was clearly better than the rest of the slobs there. I felt trapped. Joined up with the temple of Sarenrae after that. They recognized my strength, gave me strength. Now I go where I want, doing some real good. Making a real difference.”

“Yeah, I can understand feeling trapped like that. You got some swanky powers though, I'll tell you that. Any chance you can show me some of them? You know, strictly for demon killing.”

“I think you might be a long way from piety, Icarus,” said Agren.

I laughed. “You're probably right. Anyway, these are more my speed.” I pulled out one of the glass vials strapped to the bandolier on my chest. “Demons hate this stuff. Won't get near it. Saved my ass more than once.”

“You'll be useful then, I hope.”

“Hey now,” I said, tucking the vial back where it belonged. “Have some faith.”

* * *

Night, Day 2

We entered the threshold of Pinefell around dusk. The remainder of the trip was uneventful, and we exchanged little conversation. I asked Agren about herself and her mission, but her answers were short and vague. Her demeanor seemed less secretive than it was unsociable. I got the sense that she considered me “unsavory.” Just because I wasn't some gods-given gift to the world with shiny magics, I was a no-good street urchin, I guess. Maybe it was the cloak I was wearing. It was pretty ratty, but I thought it looked cool. She was still intent on keeping me around on account of my demon slaying background, so that was something. Didn't matter too much to me. As long as I got what I came for.

A natural clearing in the woods gave way to a small collection of low buildings. No more than two hundred people lived there, I'd guess. The sky opened up a bit here, a rare break in the dense treetops that even hid the time of day. Orange twilight pushed through the leaves and warmed the ground in scattered amber tones. The houses were constructed mainly from the thick trunks of felled trees, giving the whole town a sturdy rustic feel. Oddly, there were no gates and no fences. The buildings that stood here were put together quickly and ruggedly. The grass was unkempt between most of the buildings. Throughout the village, the ground was never tamped down flat, rocks were never cleared, stumps were never dug out. Pathways were just worn down from where people had walked in the grass. Aesthetics had no place here. Pinefell was built for people to work hard and live sparsely.

“Nice place, huh?” I said.

Agren scanned the village thoroughly. “No. I don't like it here. Makes me uneasy.”

“Doesn't look that bad to me. Other than the fact that they probably only have one restaurant and it sucks. Can't get any tourism if the local cuisine is garbage, that's what I think.”

“We shouldn't stay here long.”

“Really? I was thinking this might be a nice place to retire, myself.” I shot Agren a challenging look. “Quiet, great land prices, lots of fresh air. Sounds nice, right?”

Agren didn't respond. Her symbol of Sarenrae glowed briefly. She grunted. “We should find a place to rest for the night. The less time we spend out in the open, the better.”

“Yeah, let's find a place with a kitchen if we can,” I said. “You were at the Hooded Fox, right? Did you try the cockatrice wings? I thought they were pretty good.”

“I did, actually. Not bad.”

“You think they were really cockatrice wings, though? They wouldn't actually serve cockatrice in a pub like that. I think it's just a marketing tactic, myself. It had to be chicken.”

Agren laughed. “I guess you haven't eaten enough cockatrice yet to tell the difference.”

I didn't know how to respond to that. She was bluffing, right?

We wandered into the center of the town. A few people of varied races walked about, not even pretending to hide their intense stares in our direction. Nobody spoke to us, but they didn't go out of their way to avoid us, either. Agren tensed. She held her holy symbol, muttering as she went.

“They really roll out the welcoming committee for adventurers,” I remarked. Agren looked quite worried now, not just paranoid. “What? What it it?”

She held her symbol tighter. “We need to get to the inn, now.”

“Uh, sure,” I said, unsure if I should be worried too. I called out to a passing gnome woman. “Excuse me-”

“No,” Agren cut me off sharply. “Don't talk to any of them. This place reeks of corruption.”

“So do state officials, but everyone's gotta file their taxes at some point, right?” I laughed. She didn't get the joke, I guess.

“Icarus. Now.”

I got the hint. We walked a bit farther, looking for signage of some kind. We found it quickly, a square two story building. The crude sign hanging above the doorway just read “INN”. Missed opportunity, not giving your establishment a fun name. Maybe I'll spitball a few ideas when I have the time.

The interior was dimly lit, and not in the nice way that gave a someplace an air of refinement and ambiance. This was squalor. The one table on the first floor was rough and unfinished-looking. The chairs were much of the same. A set of stairs ascended on left side of the room to a second floor. The steps were unevenly spaced and crooked, as if the builder made them in a frantic bid to escape the first floor. Everything was dusty. It was not a place that had been lived in much, if ever.

On the squat counter opposite the entrance, a sign sat. It was with scrawled with smudged charcoal on dusty slate, reading “ring please.”

I rang. Agren subtly moved her hand to her sword's handle and left it there.

The door behind the counter creaked open, and a stout, well-aged half-elf woman emerged slowly. She wore an old smock dress and no jewelry. She was dustier than anything else in the building. The thought crossed my mind that she might have been the source of the dust. Perhaps, all the dust that had gathered in the building had concentrated, birthing a being born from the dust itself. The existence of which had galvanized a new dimension, born from pure willpower of dust, forming some kind of localized dust plane. No doubt, she was a dust elemental, the first of its kind. Maybe that's the evil that Agren came here to extinguish: dust.

“Hello, you two,” she said, her voice escaping like she was stuck in a perpetual cough. “I'm sorry if you've been waiting on me. I was just in the back, doing my embroidery. I don't expect many visitors, on account that we don't have them very often. Hardly ever, actually.”

“It's fine, no problem,” I said. “Just put us up for two of your most modest rooms, if you please.” I fished in my pockets for money, fingering my last few gold pieces. I withdrew my hand, empty, and looked at Agren like a child asking to buy ice cream.

The woman smiled at me, then turned to Agren. “That'll be three silver for the both of you, if you please.”

Without breaking eye contact, Agren pulled out three silver pieces and dropped them on the counter. Her hand remained hovering over the table.

“Thank you so much, dearies,” she said, reaching for the coins. “I can fix ya some light supper in the mornin', and I'll have fresh sheets set out-”

The lady yelped as Agren gripped her arm, yanking her across the counter like a stuffed animal. In seconds, her body was thrown to the floor and pinned, one hand wrapped around her neck. Agren's other hand was still clutching the hilt of her scimitar. She pulled it two inches out of its sheath, just enough to flash the shiny metal blade.

“Agren! What the hell are you doing?”

“You call yourself a demon hunter?” she said, gritting her teeth. The woman struggled to breathe in the angry half-orc's tight grasp, her hands shooting to her neck. The bit of color that she had began draining from her face. “This fiend is deceiving you. She'll probably slit our throats the minute we close our eyes to sleep.”

“A demon running a shitty inn off in the backwater middle of fucking nowhere? Are you serious?” Agren didn't budge. The woman was choking to death. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

In a low, solemn voice, almost in a whisper, Agren said, “Yet it must be done.” She wore a pained expression.

Not as pained as it could be. I drew my gun and leveled it at her head, almost pressing it against her temple. “I don't care what she is. You have three seconds to drop her.”

Agren made no move.

“One.”

The woman's gasps grew quieter.

“Two. I swear to whatever god you pray to, I'll do it.”

She loosened her grip, but still held on. The woman gasped a thin, desperate breath of dusty air. I could see something like smoke coiling off Agren's hands.

I lowered my pistol. “I've killed my share of demons, and this isn't any kind of demon I've ever seen. They don't go in for domestic living, and they don't tolerate being pinned down in a shameful form like this. If they want to break out, they do. If we were actually in danger, you'd have known it by now.”

“In my back pocket, there's a small pouch of silver powder,” Agren told me. “Take it. Sprinkle it around us in a small circle. Make sure the circle is unbroken, and as perfectly round as you can manage.” The woman's eyes fixed on me dimly, with some meek understanding. Agren's hand was still clenched too tightly for her to speak properly.

“Got it. But no sudden movements, either of you.” I holstered my weapon, found the silver, and got to work. It was extremely fine powder. Seemed like a pity, just strewing it about in a dingy place like this. But magic works in mysterious ways, I suppose. Very wasteful ways.

I finished and stepped out of the circle. Agren raised her angelic symbol. The silver shone brightly, filling the ramshackle room with pure white light. The woman's face contorted into an awful shape, her features elongating and compressing and bulging outward, discoloring to a vile green. She seemed to be trying to repress the effects, but within seconds her face resembled something like a melted pig's head.

Agren huffed. Her hand flared with light and the woman – the demon – recoiled. The paladin stepped out of the glowing silver circle, being very careful not to disturb the line I'd drawn. Now we were on the outside of the circle and it was on the inside.

The demon – and evidently it was a demon – still retained its human form, save for the head. Two jagged, long, pointed ears stuck out perpendicular to either side, a parody of the elegantly tipped ones she had before. Her hair was gone, replaced by bald, sickly gray skin. Her eyes were tiny, her nose snout-like, and her mouth was a collection of oddly sized incisors. It was horrid and sad.

“I told you. Demons live in Pinefell.” Agren said. “I could sense them everywhere since we'd arrived. The longer we stay here, the more we invite death on ourselves.” She drew her weapon, solemnly. “This town must be purged.”

“Not until I complete my business here first.” I said. “Whatever I'm looking for, I think it has ties to this town. No, I'm sure of it now.”

“That does not concern me. I have a mission, and I intend to carry it out,” Agren said without emotion, drawing her sword. “Sarenrae has no pity in her heart for fiends such as these. They are filth, and cannot be redeemed.”

The demon, seeming to gain some faculties, touched its throat; a wide, hand-shaped mark still smoldered and burned where the paladin had touched its skin.

“Yeah, but it might know something. If you're looking for a demon, the quickest way to find it is by asking another demon, right?”

“This demon is a base, wretched creature of evil and instinct. Speaking with it is pointless.”

Just then, a sound filled my head. It crackled and popped and hissed in rising and falling tones. I recognized it. The creature was speaking Abyssal.

Agren moved toward the demon I now recognized as a dretch: okay, it was pretty much a base, wretched creature of evil and instinct. But it could talk, and that was worth something to me. She shouted, “we must kill it before it can cast it's infernal magic on us.”

It wasn't casting a spell. It was pleading. It was begging for its life.

“No, we're safe,” I told Agren, holding her back before she could take a step into the circle and finish the job she'd started. “Just give me a moment.”

I leaned down to the edge of the magic circle, being very careful not to put any of my body past the boundary of the powdered silver. I spoke. Agren's expression darkened. My abyssal was rusty. I didn't have much practice speaking the language. There weren't too many willing conversation partners in my travels, you see. But this one seemed willing. Very willing.

“Why are you here?”

The creature stilled and focused on me. It responded telepathically, its horrid drooping lips unmoving. 

What? But you- you are not one of us. You are from here. This plane of existance. How do you understand-

“You aren't the first of your kind I've spoken to. Won't be the last. Now answer this question. Why are you out in the middle of the woods running a dusty inn? You killing wayward travelers? Gathering sacrifices for a cult? Or maybe you've gone soft, is that it? A demon that hungers for a simple life out in the country. Ascetic and quiet, just you and your knitting.”

It is n-needlepoint.

Holy shit, a knitting demon.

“Icarus, this abomination must die.”

“Give me a minute! The demon is telling me about its knitting.”

Agren's expression went flat. “Demons knit?”

“No, of course not!” I shushed her. “So, dretch, who summoned you? Why are you here?”

Vizea, of course. It is by her will t-that Pinefell exists. This is her place, her h-home. We are loyal to her.

“Where is she? I'd like to ask her a few questions.”

North, in the big house. B-but we cannot go there. Only her most trusted may enter.

“If I want to get in there, I will. Trust me.” I said matter-of-factly. “And one more thing.” I opened my locket and showed it to the demon. It was a small abstract painting of a demon, one that I had a commissioned as very fine replication of a much larger original. Tendrils of shadows in the darkest blues and greens swirled and jutted around the demon's form. Four arms melded into the creature, weaving like ink through water, trailing across the image. Its body was one dark mass, with two glowing red eyes like slits in the material plane leading to the darkest inferno of the nine hells themselves. I didn't look at the image myself, for the memory if it alone shook me and drove my mind into a fervid flame.

“Its name is Kazzerath. Do you recognize this monster?” I asked the dretch.

It cowered. No, I don't think so. But the master, Lady Vizea, this m-might be her work. She p-paints, I hear. Very f-fine work, I'm told.

I smiled. “Does she? I'm very glad to hear that, small one. Perhaps you can come with us, show us the way?”

No.

“No.”

Agren and the demon both responded at once.

I am not permitted-

“-devil follow after us. Maybe you-

-higher ranking demons may enter-

“-too dangerous to trust-”

-allowed to leave my station-

“-call its allies, stab us in the backs-”

“Stop talking, both of you!” I shouted. “There's two voices happening in my head and I can't hear either.” I pointed at Agren. “Okay, you first.”

Agren bared her teeth. “With pleasure.”

Before I could act, Agren had drawn her sword, stepped into the circle, and cleaved the dretch's head clean off. I didn't know how much capacity this thing had to feel pain, but it couldn't have felt much. Its body immediately began dissolving in a blinding radiant light that might have been seen through the windows if the windows had ever been cleaned.

My pistol was drawn again and pointed at the paladin. “What the hell was that?”

“Regardless of your intentions here, mine are to purge the evil that has corrupted this forest. My holy mission has nothing to do with you, and I will not stand by while you spare this tiny miserable monster's life.”

“Maybe things aren't that simple here. You think of that?”

She scoffed. “I don't need to take lectures from a pirate. Now stand down.”

We stared at each other for a while, long enough for the demon's body to slowly, completely reduce to gray cinders. Nothing but dust.

I lowered my gun. I holstered it, standing up to her. She was only a few inches taller than me, and yet she towered above with the raw thickness of her muscled frame. Her robes and armor outshone my worn, strapped leather. She was stronger than me, and we both knew it. I wouldn't stand a chance against her.

“The demon gave me directions to the head honcho.” I said to Agren. I went over to the counter where the silver coins still lay and grabbed them up. “You can come with me if you'd like. I won't stop you.”

You couldn't stop me if you tried, she thought. I could practically hear her think it.

* * *

We exited the inn, careful of any beings that may have noticed or felt our incursion. Everything seemed the same. That same veneer of calm that, now that I focused, was only inches deep. Our arrival here had broke the surface tension of the town; something was already beginning to happen, I could feel it.

We made our way up the north path. Agren and I brandished lanterns to guide our way. Darkness had finally set on the town, and once again the forest canopy covered up the sky, blocking out the moonlight. At least here the trail was actually more of a path, and less of a place where repeated footfalls had just incidentally killed the grass which lived there. The trail snaked away from any other buildings, turning up into the trees, which once again became so that thick you could hardly see more than ten feet in any direction. Tensely we tread, all our senses flaring at the edge of paranoia.

“No matter what happens here, it will not change my mission,” Agren said. “This village is an affront to the divine, and it will be razed, if I have any say.”

“So what, you're gonna just kill every living thing in the city? That many demons, by yourself?”

“If I must. It is the task I was given.”

“And you're sure that all the people who live here are demons, like that woman back there?” I asked.

Agren paused. “They must be. Who could live alongside demons like this? Who would abide it?”

A thought came to me. “That shopkeeper you attacked back in town, the elf, you remember? He was a demon, am I right?”

“Yes. He was. A pity that I was not able to kill him in Little Ivywood, and a greater pity that he was able to evade us on the trail here. No thanks to your divine intervention.”

I ignored the jab. “Was his friend demonic as well? Urdrin, the dwarf.”

“No.” She lingered on the word longer than necessary, processing it.

We spent the rest of the walk in silence.

Soon, we rounded a corner and a respectable mansion emerged, lit and gated and landscaped like any rich pretentious noble aught to be. Guarded, as well. Two armored individuals stood side-by-side in front of the large entrance gates, wielding forked spears and round bronzed shields emblazoned with feathered wings. One of them had a grimy handlebar mustache. I decided to call him Jim. Short for Jimothy. They readied their weapons as we approached.

“Stay where you are, both 'o ya” Jim called out as we came within fifteen feet of the gate. He stayed back as Not-Jim stepped forward to us. “What is your business here?”

Agren was all but ready to attack, just raring to strike down both these men. I assumed they were demons, but I feared for the alternative. I had no way of knowing either way. I put my arm on her shoulder and steadied her.

“We're here to see the master. Lady Vizea is her name, I believe.” I didn't want to get anywhere within poking range of those spears, which were ever-so-slightly tilted too far in my direction. However, I did draw close enough that armor wouldn't have made much of a difference if I decided to fire a shot point-blank into their chests. If you find yourself in a fight, make sure you can see the whites of their eyes.

I removed the locket from my neck. Beside the locket, of course, a single bullet was strung. It was affixed with a breakaway mechanism in case I needed to fire it at a moment's notice, and inscribed with the name of the demonic entity I've known only as Kazzerath. This bullet was a parting gift from my mentor – the Albatross herself – who happened to be the captain of the infamous pirate ship, the Shattered Moon. It is one of my most prized possessions. I find myself thumbing it idly whenever my resolve is shaken, feeling the grooves of the letters on my fingers. It calms me. It reminds me why I'm here.

I held the necklace out. “This is for your master to see. I have business with the person responsible for the original piece of artwork. She may be interested in what I have to say.” Not-Jim carefully approached, not letting his guard down for a second, and allowed me to place the necklace in his hand. “Be very careful with this. It's worth a great deal. Regardless how your master reacts, I will see this necklace returned to me.”

He nodded. “I will bring this to her attention. Wait here.” Agren had a rabid look in her eyes. Both these guys were probably demons, go figure. “Behave yourselves,” he added, sizing up Agren in particular.

Both of us remained at a distance as Not-Jim opened the gates, slipped through, and walked across the nicely manicured garden path up to the grand doric columns of the house face, entering the grand double doors. King, nobility, landlords; they all felt entitled to some gaudy pomp and circumstance to make themselves feel better about their undeserved station in life. Some of these townspeople might be innocent, but I'd bet my right hand that this woman had her own list of sins she needed to repent for.

We waited outside for a few minutes before Jim called out to us. “Hey, what're you two doin' all the way out here? Nobody told ya how dangerous it is for yur types?”

I didn't like the way he said those last two words. “Our types,” I echoed back with the same intonation. “Which types are that?”

“The types who come around thinkin' they're stronger than anybody else. Think they can push their weight around to get what they want. The types that stick their nose into matters that got nuthin' to do with 'em. Those types. Yur those types, aint'cha?”

“Yes,” Agren said. “Yes we are.”

He gave us both a look of contempt.

Agren smiled. “What type are you, then? If you don't mind me asking.”

“I do mind, actu'lly.”

“It's okay,” she responded quietly. “I already know.”

We waited in awkward silence for Not-Jim to return with good news.

Not-Jim did return, placing my necklace back into my waiting hands. “Good news, the Lady has decided to meet with you. Consider yourselves extraordinarily lucky.”

Not-Jim brought us up to the door, where we were met by a well dressed tiefling servant. She wore an immaculate tuxedo and a few tasteful silver rings on her perfectly right-angled horns, which almost touched in the middle of her head to form the outline of a diamond shape. She asked if she could take our coats. We declined the offer. Neither of us thought that was a good idea. 

The tiefling led us through several rooms of the house. It was a fine house, crammed full of expensive furniture and art pieces. The art was terrifying, depicting grotesque monsters and imagery of hellish landscapes. The paint was layered thickly on many of them, creating an off-putting texture, like the paintings themselves were oozing or bleeding, or threatening to burst off the canvas and unleash the evils they contained. Here and there, far less in number than the demonic pieces, were paintings of celestial subjects. Angelic auras surrounded their bodies, and their wings were always outstretched as if in flight. Their faces were the epitome of serene grace. All of them were gored and skewered, their bodies dripping with blood. I shivered.

We stopped outside a fine oak double door. The tiefling smiled at us. “The Lady Vizea is right through these doors. She is waiting for you. Are you prepared?”

Agren held her holy symbol to her side, muttering, her eyes unfocused. The tiefling observed this, making no move to stop or question it. Agren finished what I can only assume was a spell of some kind. She glowered at the tiefling. “You lie. I detect no evil presence behind that door.”

She laughed. “Of course not. Our master is a kind, noble person. You would certainly not find such a thing here. Now, are you prepared to meet her? She is quite intense, in her own way. I recommend you attend to her with the utmost respect and reverence.”

“Yeah, we're good. Open 'er up,” I said, growing impatient.

She smiled. “Very well.”

* * *

Vizea's study room was messy with paints and canvas, brushes and cups, jars and jars and jars of various substances I couldn't have identified. The only clean spot was an intricately patterned blue rug in the very center of the room, dark against the golden oak floorboards. It was a large room with a high ceiling, maybe fifteen or twenty feet up. A crystal chandelier hung from the very center. It didn't seem to be producing light; the entire room was bathed in a sourceless daylight. In places you'd expect to find shadows, they were eerily absent. The broad windows on each side of the room showed us visions of the sky, with pure white clouds drifting past us. I felt a sudden vertigo as I stepped past the threshold and into the light, though the room did not move.

Vizea was set aside, off in the back corner, working on a wide canvas, maybe the length of her body. She wore tight fitting tank top that revealed her lithe, muscled arms, and a simple pair of finely pressed silken black pants. A row of expensive jeweled platinum bangles shone along the lower half of her left arm. Her clothes were flecked with red and gray, the same color as her current piece; a bulbous, pestilent entity with a gaping mouth held a screaming human. Its massive knobbly hands were pulling the relatively small person into two halves, coming apart at the stomach. Flames raged in the background. Even unfinished, it was some of the most finely detailed work I'd ever seen. It was horrid.

At the tiefling's indication, we walked into the center of the room, atop the rug. She nodded to her inattentive master and promptly left, shutting the door. I felt the echo of the closed door bounce off the ceiling and ripple through my body. I started to feel nervous. Agren just looked annoyed. Usually I was the one other people had to worry about doing something stupid. Being on the receiving end of that feeling for once was not good.

The Vizea's materials littered the ground around her. We would have needed to tiptoe carefully to avoid knocking over any of the precariously placed cups of water and half-dried paper smeared with oil paints in order to approach her. We had no need, evidently.

“Welcome to my home,” Vizea said. Her voice was calm and hushed, yet the volume of her voice carried across to us much louder than her tone suggested it should. She faced away from us, continuing to paint. I couldn't see her face, but her bone white hair was shaved almost down to her olive skin, angular shaved lines carefully crisscrossing across one side. “I don't receive guests very often, so please pardon the lack of seating arrangements. You did arrive on very short notice, however.”

“You're Vizea? This is your town?” I ask.

“Of course. Who did you think you were talking to?”

“I have a question about a certain piece of artwork. I believe you might be the artist.” I pulled the necklace over my head to remove it, but halfway through, my hands suddenly became empty. My locket had appeared within Vizea's raised left hand. She opened it. I thought to myself how much I disliked vain magic users.

“Oh,” Vizea chuckled softly. “How interesting that you would choose this one over all the others.”

“Why, what's wrong with this one?”

“Nothing wrong. Quite the opposite, in fact. This is one of my more successful subjects.” She shut the locket, and I was wearing it again in an instant. “The painting itself is so-so. I've explored many styles since then. Photorealism pleases me so much more than the expressionism I fixated on a few decades years ago. Simply suggesting aspects of terror is enough to fill a person's mind with it. They fill in the blanks themselves in creative ways, of course. But there is a gratifying feeling in pinpointing the exact flavor of horror you wish your audience to experience, and laying out that emotion on canvas in the wordless, universal language of paint.”

“I would love to chat with you about your work – really, I would – but I need to know more about this demon, Vizea. It's why I've come out here, looking for you.”

“And you, the half-orc” Vizea said, speaking to Agren. “This is why you are out here, as well?”

“Why do you not radiate an evil aura?” she asked, ignoring the question. “These demons, this filth; you are the cause of it. You must be. Yet my magic does not reveal your intent.”

“Perhaps your magic is not as strong as mine, exalted one.” Vizea responded airily, brushing wide strokes of crimson onto a particularly visceral part of her work. 

“You can't hide from me. I will reveal your intent and bring you to justice, I swear it.”

Vizea finally stopped painting, setting down her brush in a small jar of murky water with a few quick swirls. She turned to us. Her face was like a classical sculpture. Her eyes were two sharp emeralds, unnaturally green. “I see that you are mistaken. Since coming to Pinefell, you have encountered some dark things? Creatures not of this world, perhaps?”

“Don't play dumb,” Agren shouted, her voice rebounding off the walls. “You're at the heart of this infestation. The creatures know of your name. They call you 'lady' and swear fealty to you.”

“And why shouldn't they? This is my town. I am its lord. These are my vassals.”

“They are demons.” Agren paused between each word for emphasis.

Vizea smiled. She regarded both of us, in turn, with distant pity. She looked at us like abstract concepts, like thoughts. Like air. I felt it; we were truly nothing to her.

She turned to her painting and got back to work, concealing her piercing eyes. “There is an evil in this town, if that fulfills you. True evil is uncontrolled power. My citizens do no harm. They follow my will, and my will is fair. However, there seems to be a disturbance in the leylines of power recently. I suspect that some small force is acting against Pinefell in secret. For what reason, I cannot say. Perhaps they are trying to grasp this town's strength for themselves. Perhaps they are like you, trying to perform some silly subversive justice. Perhaps it is a simple creature, acting on pure animalistic instinct. I do not know.

“I would like you to find this disturbance,” she continued. “Take care of whatever is plaguing my town, and I will give you each the very thing you have come here for.”

“I've come to see you all fall at my feet,” Agren said. “I will be satisfied with nothing less.”

“Is that exactly what you have come here to do?” Vizea asked. “Your order has sent you on a mission to find the source of the sudden evil energy emanating from these woods. The church of Sarenrae did not order you to annihilate an entire village. Merely find the disturbance and quell it.”

Agren looked shaken. “How do you know this?”

“Your mind is an open book to me. There are no secrets you can keep, no deceptions, no trickery. In this room, the mind is a sieve which thoughts slip through and funnel into me.” Her face was hidden, but I knew she smiled now. “I can feel your resolve, and it does not stir me.”

I silently looked around at the absolute light, the serene cloud tops, the perfect unbroken whiteness of Vizea's impossible chamber. I felt naked. “Where is this disturbance?” I asked.

“Southwest of the city. I have not been able to identify the cause. The source seems to be masking itself, or of an unconventional nature. Find it and rid this corruption in whatever way you see fit.”

“And we will be rewarded?”

“Of course. You have come all this way, after all.”

“You have a deal then,” I said immediately. One more job, and I would be able to find the demon I've longed after for years. My heart raced.

“I refuse,” Agren said indignantly. “I will not become your slave. I would rather die.”

Vizea laughed like a chorus of singing glasses. “I would not dream of keeping a living creature here against their will. I am merely offering you the opportunity to complete the task you have been set on. Make no mistake, this is your only option.” A few moments of pregnant silence passed as Vizea mixed another shade of red into her palette. “A kobold does not walk into a naga's nest in defiance, after all. That would be a very, very foolish thing to do.”

We both felt the implied threat, and the weight of our presence here came down upon us. It was though a great force had lowered itself onto us suddenly.

“Agren,” I whispered. “I'm taking this job. And you're gonna help me, if you're smart. You really think you can take this whole village by yourself? You really think that's gonna work out? We should at least see where this rabbit hole goes first.”

Agren didn't like it. She didn't have a choice. “I refuse to commit any action that breaks my code of honor. I will accept your terms. If this force is truly evil, I will quell it. But your actions here will not be overlooked.”

“They will be,” Vizea said. “You may exit my chambers. You are permitted to stay one night in my guest rooms, if you have need. I would advise you take them. I hear that the owner of the inn is away at the moment,” she said, as someone who knew full well that their innkeeper had been recently decapitated and sent back to the abyssal plane. “Return when you have news to speak of.”

Without a sound, the tiefling appeared beside us once more and led us away. The doors shut silently behind us. Agren and I marched wordlessly through the halls, feeling watched by the dozens of horrid paintings throughout the manor.

It had been the first time I'd slept in a bed as luxurious as this one. The sheets alone might have cost more gold than I'd ever made across my entire lifetime.

The night was restless.

* * *

Morning, Day 3

Vizea's servants roused us early in the morning. We took half an hour to gear up. Afterwards, breakfast was served. The ruling lady of Pinefell wanted us to know that we would be taken care of as long as we were in her good graces, but we were still on a schedule. Well rested and well fed, we were scooted out the door. Neither of us wanted to be in that house for much longer anyway.

Agren and I crossed through the village and headed southwest, where the intrusion on Vizea's rule apparently hid. It was an unpleasant walk. As armed and armored as we were, we had no protection from the prying eyes of Pinefell's residents. From the scant few people up and about, we attracted much suspicion, bordering on outright hostility. Our actions yesterday at the inn must have gotten around by now; news travels fast in a small town, and this was as small as it got. Vizea's watchful presence would shield us from being directly attacked by her people, but we steered as clear as we could. Our public relations with this place so far might garner us some cautious interest, at best.

The trek through the underbrush was long and exhausting. We didn't talk. We barely acknowledged each others' presence. It wasn't ideal, but we both had a job to do and little choice but to do it.

We searched the woods, hacking away at the tougher foliage when we absolutely had to clear a path. Unfortunately, the ground was uneven and layered with roots and vines that caught our feet, forcing us to move slowly. Despite that, we worked as quickly as we could to find the source of whatever Vizea could not find.

Agren held up her holy symbol often, chanting and thinking, nodding and taking sharp turns, concentrating on something I could not sense. I swore that we were lost, but she moved with purpose.

“Find anything?” I asked, breaking the silence.

Agren remained silent. She focused her eyes directly forward, not stopping.

“I feel like I'm not being super duper useful here. We haven't needed to shoot anything yet.”

“If we need to shoot something, I'll let you know,” Agren finally said.

Quiet lapsed again, accented by rustling leaves and crackling branches underfoot. So, all in all, neither of us were very quiet. We were pretty loud. Whatever we were looking for, it probably could have heard us coming all the way from Little Ivywood.

“Do you think there's anything even out here?” I asked. “Vizea could have set us up so she could send out her demons and kill us while we aimlessly wandered the forest.”

“This occurred to me,” Agren said.

“And that doesn't concern you?”

“It would give me justification to do what I believe is right,” she said. “That witch must die. I am certain of that.”

“And what if she's telling the truth, huh? What if this thing that's messing with her demons ends up taking over instead? You prepared to unleash a whole village worth of demons onto the material plane without a master to control them? What do you think they'll do? Because I know what they'll do. They'll head on over to Ivywood and kill and maim and destroy every single beautiful thing and living being they can find, and they won't stop until the whole town is cinders. How's that sound?”

She tried to be strong, but I could see the paladin hesitate for just a second. “I have to do something about this village. It would disgrace me to come all the way out here with nothing to show for it.”

“Hey, you'd be alive,” I said. “That's pretty good, all things considered. Screw disgrace. Screw honor.”

“Icarus, stop.”

“I know you don't like to hear it-”

“No, stop!” Agren hushed me in a half-whisper.

I stopped talking and lowered my voice to hers. “What? What is it?”

“It's some kind of creature. It's unnatural. Stay alert.”

We both crouched in the bushes and sneaked forward, trying our best to keep a low profile. Agren's bright blue and gold robes didn't help our case, but hey, we tried. Peeking through the forest, I spotted the creature Agren mentioned. There was a large rock outcropping ahead, maybe fifteen feet tall. Set into the stone was a hole that could easily fit both Agren and I side by side, leading into a tunnel further below. I might have actually glossed over it as unimportant if a large blue creature hadn't been guarding the entrance.

The thing was quadrupedal and entirely blue, save for the eyes that shone a dull white light. It had roughly the muscular frame and body shape of a lion, except its mane was a slicked back mass of tentacles, gently swaying as if they were floating on the sea floor. Its skin was like cloudy water swirling underneath a thin sheet of transparent leather. Of course, it also had a terrifying maw of teeth that looked like two saw blades smashed together, and four claws on the end of each leg like the blades of miniature scythes.

“The hell is that?” Agren said.

“I was expecting you to know, honestly.” I told her, brandishing my gun. “You've been around the block a few times, it seems.”

“This block is new to me.”

“Well, never fear. I've got a plan.”

* * *

It wasn't an extraordinarily good plan, but it was something. There was about eighty feet between us and the creature. If we approached, it definitely would have seen us. This thing would have the advantage in the forest, where its natural agility and many legs would allow it to navigate through the tangled ground. Instead, I would fly up into the air, land a good distance behind the rock wall it guarded, and then sneak up behind it. With my range atop the wall, I would shoot it, enraging the beast. It would attempt to climb up the sheer fifteen foot stone, and fail because it was a dumb animal that operated only on a desire to attack things it sees. Animals are dumb. With the blue thing focused on me, Agren would run up behind it, closing the distance, and strike a decisive blow to finish off the already bullet-laden monster.

That said, I generally dislike plans, even good ones. They never survive contact with the enemy.

Flying ahead and dropping down with little difficulty, I entered the forest a good distance away from the cave. All things considered, I did a pretty good job sneaking up. It was much easier to be quiet when I didn't have a musclebound priest clanking around, cramping my style. Not that I particularly preferred the silent approach, but it was better to have options. 

From behind, the stone wall that hid the cave entrance gradually came up from the ground into a natural ramp. I sidled to the top, making extra care to be cautious. I wiggled on my belly like a snake, inching my way slowly up to the very peak. I snuck a glance over the edge to confirm the creature had not moved. It stood stock still in the same exact position as before. Excellent. I raised myself into a low crouch. Taking a few deep breaths to brace myself, I mentally patted myself on the back for my cleverness, readied my pistol, looked down over the edge, and-

It was gone.

Oh shit.

I turned around just in time to come face-to-face with two rows of jagged teeth about to clamp around my neck.

The beast caught me on my shoulder as I turned to dodge, not fast enough. Its teeth sunk deep into my flesh, and I felt a warm sensation tingle across the wound. The creature was eerily silent as it did so. No growling, snarling, or panting. It simply acted. It wasn't animalistic, it was something below even that, like a pure force fueled by the constant inertia of the universe. Even as the blood gushed from my body, I pointedly thought to myself that it was creepy as hell.

I flailed and pushed against the monster, which held firm. It's body was made of a strange, thick, pliant material. It was clamped down hard against me, so I used the 400 pounds of angry beast to my advantage the best I could. I stumbled back, and together we both fell fifteen feet onto the hard ground.

As we fell, I used my wings to position myself so the creature would land first, and it took the brunt of the fall. The ground rushed up to meet us, slamming hard against me, and causing the creature to release me. It still made no sound.

“Agren,” I shouted, raising my pistol still clutched in my hand and pushing myself up. “Plan went to shit! Get out here, now!”

Barely before I finished speaking, the half-orc burst from the bushes with her scimitar already drawn, fire spouting from the edge. “I knew you'd mess it up, you idiot.”

“Whatever, it was a stupid plan anyway.” I steadied my gun and fired a shot, almost glancing off the beast's hide as it recovered from the fall and came for me once again. This time it seemed to wince in pain.

Just as the blue monster leapt for me, Agren stepped past me and beat the creature back with the force of her whole body. “It was your plan!” Her sword sunk into the beast, the flames disappearing into the body, barely singeing it. It still moved with a silent, rabid vigor. It raised its tail, which ended in several barbed tentacles, and lashed out, trying to pin her. She wrestled with it as it snapped and stabbed for her, pushing it back into the cave's mouth. “Gods, what is this monster made out of?”

“It'll be swiss cheese if you can keep it still for just a second.” I fired off another shot, and then another. Both rang true, rupturing its underbelly, dripping azure blood. 

It snapped at Agren, who pushed herself to her physical limit just keeping the creature at bay. The tails glanced off the side of her armor with dull metallic reverberations as she struggled to keep her head clear of their reach. When she could no longer hold it, she sidestepped, causing the creature to lurch forward with an awkward stumbling momentum. She used this chance to send her weapon up through its mouth and out through the other side of its head, the blade sticking upward like a cruel shish kabab.

The blue abomination stopped completely, twitched, and began soundlessly coming apart. Its form shifted and shuddered, and the substance that comprised its body limply shrunk and warped and twisted. Elements of it blurred and faded, and in seconds, the only trace of it left was the thick blue blood spilled on the ground underneath the space where its body stood moments before.

That, and the huge gouge in my shoulder. It stung like a son of a bitch. And it burned, too.

“Thanks for the assist, Agren. I woulda been in a lot more trouble without you here.”

“Let me see your wound,” she responded, in a tone that suggested that she wanted to make it worse. She grabbed my shoulder and twisted it this way and that.

“Ow! Careful with that. It's still tender.”

“How does it feel?”

“How do ya think? Like I fell off a building and onto a bear trap.”

Agren hummed to herself disapprovingly. She raised her hand, and a faint light glowed from it. Just like yesterday, my wounds began to heal up magically. Still a very handy trick, I had to admit.

I stood and brushed myself off. “You gotta teach me how to do that, seriously.”

“Wait, I'm not done,” she said, preparing another spell.

I rolled my shoulder around like an old-timey boxer. “No, look! I'm good as new.”

Agren ignored me, casting another spell over the wound. Nothing seemed to change. She seemed satisfied.

“What was that for?” I asked.

“That thing had planted its larvae inside you when you were bitten. In an hour, you would have come down with a fever. In a week or two, you'd be dead.” She said this so matter-of-factly. It was terrifying. “Hours after your death, your body would have matured the larvae. They would have latched onto your brain, giving the newly spawned creatures control over your lifeless corpse.”

Her words struck me dumb. “Oh. Well, thanks. Wow. Really? That would have happened?”

“I'm not sure. I believe so. I've only heard about a creature like this. A very unconventional and obscure way of creating undead, I assure you.” Agren stowed her holy symbol and began wiping off the blue blood from her sword, making extra special care not to get any on her skin.

“I owe you one, then,” I told her. “You saved my life basically. Right?”

She tried to suppress a smile. “I couldn't let you become a zombie, could I? What kind of holy servant would I be?”

* * *

Afternoon, Day 3

The cave was humid and zigzagged with errant vines that had broken their way through the forest floor and into the earth. The walls had been mostly smoothed and eroded, but whether it was by magic or by the natural passage of water, I could not tell. Our steps echoed through the cavern.

I led the way, keeping my hooded lantern in front of me as I walked. I focused the light into a small opening, allowing us to see our surroundings close by, but not enough to cast light further than ten feet ahead. We weren't very quiet, but we'd take any small advantages to get the drop on whatever lived in this cave.

We didn't have to search long. As we crept along the empty, dripping cavern, we saw a light up ahead, shining from around a corner. I quickly snuffed my lantern out, and we made our way towards it.

Vizea had warned us that she was not able to find whatever this thing was, this thing that was interfering with her own small army of summoned demonic entities. Judging from Agren's reaction to Vizea's presence, it was clear that she herself wielded enormous amounts of magical power, and did so confidently and without hesitation. I hadn't seen Agren as unnerved as when we were inside Vizea's chambers; not on the trail, not in the city, not even when we had confronted the dretch. And somehow, this entity that we were about to confront had eluded her grasp. I shuddered at the thought.

I had come to terms that this mission might have been a death sentence. So far, I'd lived my life on the edge of accepting death every day. When death finally did come knocking at my door, I had always been willing to push through it and survive against impossible odds. I had developed a sense of invincibility, relying on my wits and my reflexes to help guide me. But here, in the heart of the tainted corruption, my resolve wavered. A chill gripped me, and I could feel the tendrils of my own cursed fate reaching out for me. Perhaps guns had no effect on such a monster. Perhaps I was powerless in this den of evil. The blasphemous mark on my right hand itched, hidden under my handwraps.

I was out of options. Kill or be killed. The truth must become clear.

The truth is, things never turn out the way you expect them to.

At the very end of the tunnel, a small room was carved out in the stonework. Unlike the rest of the tunnel, which had outcroppings of stone and imperfections in the unevenly patterned walls, this room seemed to be deliberately constructed. The walls were flawlessly flat and smooth. The corners came to perfectly rounded bevels. The room was a large, almost completely square area with a low ceiling, maybe fifteen feet across on each side. To one side of the room, a series of desks and chests and shelves were set up, all teeming with papers and magical reagents. If there was an organization system, I couldn't decipher it. If I'd let a wild bull stampede around the place, the room would have came out looking more or less the same. Candles burned everywhere, many of them now just stubs of multicolored wax. A large circle was drawn into the center of the room, chalked with fine lines and smudged in places. Books and pages and powders and strange substances were scattered all along the edges of the circle.

Tucked away in the back of the room, with materials and notes piled high around it, a single bed lay. In it, a boy slept, his arms and legs sticking out from under the blankets in awkward angles. He couldn't have been more than sixteen years old. Young for a human. Even while sleeping, he wore a dirty blue hooded robe accented with stitching that once might have been golden, but now resembled a muddy yellow.

No other living being resided here. This was our mark, apparently. I tapped Agren on the shoulder and gestured her to move out of the room with me.

“It's gotta be him,” I said in a hushed, almost inaudible voice. “Vizea wants us to get rid of him. But he hardly looks like a threat, you know? Do you think this is it?”

“Don't underestimate your enemies by appearances alone,” Agren said. “He could be a powerful mage. He could kill you with a look.”

I gave Agren a look. Not a killing one, but maybe a minor injury if I really tried. “Do you believe that? Truly?”

She hesitated, then said, “Yes, I do.”

I sensed an opportunity. “I'd wager twenty-five gold against it. Bet he's just a dumb kid.”

“Don't give me that. You still owe me that three silver for the inn. You're broke.”

“Sounds like an excuse from someone too afraid to lose a bet.”

Agren growled. “Okay, let's find out what he knows.”

I smiled and lifted my hood up. Interrogation time. “Oh, and don't hurt him yet. Unless he fights back. Then hurt him a little.”

Agren pulled out two pairs of manacles from her bag and gave one to me. I shot her a questioning look. She shrugged. Guess this is normal gear given out by servants of the church. Checks out. We each took an end of the bed, and within three seconds, the boy was shackled at every limb to the bed frame. By the time he came to consciousness, he was already tied up and helpless.

The light came to his eyes. They were a bright blue. His hair was a sandy blonde, and his whole face was freckled like a farmer's daughter. I felt bad for him. As consciousness came to the boy, he grew irritated, and then panicked, as he finally realized the situation he was in. He looked down at me, standing at the edge of his bed like a cloaked draconic boogeyman, and yelled with the true fear of the guilty and the shackled.

“Who are you? Wha- what are you doing here? How did you find me?” His head darted back and forth, his arms and legs jangled uselessly against the chains of his confinements, and his chest heaved with rapid, frantic breaths. I worried the kid was gonna knock himself out. Maybe die of a heart attack like a little bunny rabbit.

Agren, who stood just above and behind him, suddenly spoke with a commanding voice that boomed recursively off the flat, perfect geometry of the cave, inciting a fresh wave of screams from our new captor. “Look at me, you little shit.” He did, craning his head up awkwardly. She met his gaze. He whimpered.

I laughed. “Hey, you dead yet? The kid looked right at ya.”

“I didn't actually agree to that bet.”

“Aww, c'mon. You're just sayin' that cause you lost!”

“Drop it, Icarus,” she said tiredly. “If we both live through this, I'll buy you a drink. How's that?”

“Works for me.” I laughed. I pulled my gun out, playing with it. “So, what'cha doing here, all alone in this cave? Anything suspicious? Demonic, maybe?”

The kid struggled some more. “Where's my eidolan? It was guarding the entrance. What happened to it?”

Figures. He was a magic child after all, and he was apparently doing some deals with demons. Makes sense that he'd have some otherworldly hired help. “The blue thing out front? Heavy, squirmy? Wanted to tear my face off? Yeah, I shot that thing up. It's not doing so good now.”

The kid's expression of fear deepened to absolute terror. “Oh gods. You're going to kill me. I'm going to die! Help!”

I pointed my gun right between his eyes. No way in hell I'd miss if I tried. “You're gonna cut that out right now if you don't want a forty-five caliber ball of lead buried in your frontal lobe.” He shut up immediately, like pressing a switch. I smiled, revealing rows of sharp wyvaran teeth. It upped the intimidation factor.

“What's your name?” Agren asked.

He just shook and whimpered. Dang, maybe I pushed the kid a little too far. I kinda felt bad now. Stuff like that will mess you up in the long term, honestly.

“Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt you,” Agren said. You know, like a liar. I guess we were doing good cop, bad cop. It surprised me that she was taking the good cop role, but somebody had to do it. We were both pretty shitty cops, if I had to be totally honest. “Just tell us who you are and what you're doing here.”

I sighed and holstered my gun. I only wanted to ruffle his feathers a bit. I wasn't gonna shoot him. He didn't seem so sure. His eyes followed my gun all the way down to where I stowed it on my waist. 

“Well,” I encouraged him, “go on. Tell the nice lady your name.”

So subtly that I almost didn't notice, Agren took out a single gold coin and held it tightly. Her hands glowed like they'd done before when she healed me, and she opened her hand, the coin gone. “I am a paladin of Sarenrae,” she said in a calm, level voice as the golden light washed over her. “I have been sent here on a divine mission to punish the wickedness that dwells in these woods. Even if you have done wrong, you must merely repent, and you will be redeemed. Sarenrae gazes into our souls, our hearts. If you are of truly evil intent, you will be punished.”

She took her holy symbol, the same one I had skewered a wolf with only a day before, and pressed the flat side into the boy's palm. He didn't move an inch. The wings covered his whole hand end to end.

“However, if your heart is pure, you will be judged and redeemed.” As she said this, her magic gently pulsed through her symbol, imprinting a mark on the boy's hand. “You are watched by a divine light. She wishes to save you. Will you allow her to do so? Or will your heart fall to evil, and be taken forever?”

Her speech lingered in the air. Both the boy and I felt its impact, its sincerity. She pulled her symbol away, and a dull sheen persisted on the boy's hand like golden ink. He turned his head up and angled his hand to look at it, marveling.

He swallowed deep, hesitating at first. His voice became a bit steadier with each word he spoke. “My name is Riffin Lohart. I came here to, um, research the local, uh, people of Pinefell.”

I waved my hand around the small room. “That's what all this is? Research?”

“Uh, kinda, yeah. See, I'm a summoner. Trying to be one! This is kind of a, um, an exam for me? No, more like a final project.”

“This is a very dangerous project,” Agren said. “You're dealing with forces you don't understand. You should leave.”

“But I can't! I've come so far, it would be a shame to put all that work to waste.”

“What kind of work?” I asked. “You said you were a summoner. You summon demons?”

“No, of course not,” Riffin said reproachfully. “I wouldn't do that. It's the biggest taboo at the college. That's why I wanted to come here, actually. It's why I have to stay.”

“What are you trying to do here, exactly?” Agren asked. Her demeanor was calm, but underneath the surface I could see her getting antsy with all the talk of demons. “What is this college?”

“The Millennium Summoner's College, outside of Aerkku City. It's the only one of its kind in the whole continent. I applied for it three times before I was finally accepted.”

“And how old are you?” I asked.

“I'm going to be fifteen this Fall. That's why it's so important for me to get this research done! The program I'm in, they kick you out once you're sixteen. Summoners have to raised young. It's a long, long road to take. Very dangerous.” Riffin looked troubled. “Really, it's my fault for not getting in sooner. But I'm so close! Just another few weeks and I'll have all the data I need.”

“What's your project?” asked Agren. “I have a feeling I know what it is, since you're here.”

“I'm researching the physical qualities of creatures in prolonged states outside of their home plane.”

“And what does that entail, exactly?”

“Just casting a few spells here and there, figuring out how the demons in town are bound here. Sometimes exerting a little bit of control over them. Nothing too out of the ordinary.”

“So what,” I said, a bit more forceful than I'd intended. Riffin flinched. “There's fey and stuff roaming all over the place if you know where to look. Why here? Why do your research in these woods?”

“Well, uh,” Riffen looked away from us. “We don't have a lot of information at the college about entities from the abyss.” He faltered. He knew that what he was doing was a little iffy, if not downright insane. Consorting with demons, even “friendly” ones, will get you into a lot of trouble if you make even the slightest misstep. “I found such a big source of abyssal energy coming from here. Demons are usually really dangerous, you know?”

I laughed. “You don't gotta tell me, kid. Why do you think I carry this around?” I laughed, pointing to my gun. “They are dangerous. You don't know what you're doing. You might think you do, but you don't.”

He flushed red, indignant. “I know what I'm doing! And here, the demons are, well they're, uh, not so dangerous. Have you been in town? Have you seen them? They're all disguised, not doing anything. They just live here, being normal people. It's weird, but it's a very unique circumstance. I had to bring back something great – no, something amazing – for my final project. Everybody else in my year is brilliant, you know. If I don't achieve something that's A+ material, I'm not going to be able to graduate. It's my last chance!”

Hey hey,” I said sympathetically, like talking to a little kid who'd just dropped his lollipop. “It's not the end of the world if you don't graduate. Seems like you still got some chops. And hell, you can just take your research elsewhere if your stupid school can't appreciate it.”

Riffin shook his head. “You can't. They don't let you. If you don't actually get your summoner's degree, they strike you from the books. You can't work in the country. My whole family has given everything they have just so I could go to school in the first place. Aunts and uncles, cousins, everyone. Everything is on me. I have to graduate. They'd be out on the streets otherwise.”

Agren circled around to the side of the bed. Riffin's eyes shone with awe and admiration. The blue, gold, and white robes of Sarenrae did leave quite an impact. To Riffin, Agren must have looked like some storied hero that they'd sing about in the history books.

Side note: maybe I should change my image. I look like a brigand right now, and it's probably not doing me any favors. Ditch the cloak, maybe? Yeah, ditch the cloak. But it looks so cool, you know? Ah, I'll think about it.

“If you wish to save your family, first you must save yourself.” The way Agren said this, I felt just as convinced. And I didn't even have a family any more. It was like a decree. A universal truth. “Now close your eyes, repent, and pray for Sarenrae's forgiveness.”

Riffin did as he was told. His small face was a mask of perfect serenity “Yes. I will.”

Then she punched him in the gut, hard. His eyes bulged, rolled back in his head, and he passed out immediately.

“What the hell was that!” I screamed. “I thought we were cool! I thought we were getting somewhere!”

“We do have to be getting somewhere, yes.” She began undoing the locks confining Riffin to his bed, and rejoining them again after detaching him from the bed frame. “Now get this stuff cleaned up. Destroy it. Burn it. Smash it. I don't want Vizea's scouts to come out here and see this place in one piece.” She hoisted the child over her shoulder and began walking out of the room.

“What gives! I thought you didn't want to do this job for Vizea in the first place. Now you're all gung-ho about handing over a kid to demon lord or whatever the hell she is.”

“Look,” she said, turning to me. All compassion was gone. Her mind was somewhere else, somewhere way ahead of me. “We don't have a choice. This kid is the price we have to pay to get out of here, and I have to pay it. Make no mistake, this village will be destroyed, and I will personally salt the ashes of the earth left behind. But first, we need to live.”

“But he hasn't done anything. He's just a dumb kid, like I said. You know this is wrong.”

Agren turned her back and walked out the tunnel. As she went, I saw the desperation in her eyes, like a caged animal.

I shouted and kicked the bed in anger. One of the legs came off, spinning across the room. She was so stupid. She might have been more world wise, but I had the street smarts that she'd missed out on. She didn't know the trick to winning against an opponent much stronger than you; you have to wiggle your way out. You have to be more brash and more clever than them, and you have to never give them entirely what they want. Once they milk you for what you're worth, you're nothing to them. Everybody wants something. You just need to find what it is and dangle it above their head.

The catch is, none of that works if they know you're going to burn down their town anyway.

I shook my head and lit a tindertwig.

* * *

Night, Day 3

Agren and I spent the night at the inn. Somebody else had already replaced the dretch we'd killed. He was a stout, gruff man who barely said a word to us. We offered to pay him for the night, and he refused our coin. “Lady Vizea says you stay for free,” he told us. No mention of free breakfast in bed. Darn. I liked the nice demon lady better. I got the feeling that this one wasn't into knitting.

We took two beds in the same room. Ideally, we wouldn't have, but two sets of eyes and ears were better than one, and we needed to watch Riffin. Agren hoisted him over her shoulder all the way out of the woods, all the way to the inn. The man at the desk didn't bat an eye when the half-orc slammed open the front door with an unconscious child slung around her shoulder. Didn't ask any questions. He just let us know that check out was at eleven in the morning and he gave us our room key. Would've made me feel better if he pretended to be concerned at least. Worst of all, I had the sneaking suspicion that this guy was actually human.

We spent the night six feet across from each other in squeaky beds with hard mattresses, and we were mostly silent. Riffin was between us both, his hands and feet still shackled. A length of rope had been coiled around him, binding him tightly to a chair that we'd plucked from the lobby. Vizea wanted to put something over his mouth in case he started screaming in the middle of the night, but I objected. He might just need a glass of water or something. He was our hostage, but it's not like he was a criminal.

We argued a little bit on the way to town. I told Agren I didn't want to hand him over. I figured there was something else we could do, something else we could say. Agren persisted. I asked if she really wanted his blood on her hands. I asked if Sarenrae would forgive that. She didn't say anything for the rest of the walk.

I noticed that the mark on the kid's hand still hadn't faded. My curiosity getting the better of me, I asked “what did that glowing palm trick do? Is that kid really gonna be cursed if he doesn't straighten up and fly right?”

Agren laughed, short and bitter. “No, he won't. I was just scaring the kid. You'd be surprised though. That trick nearly always works.”

Huh. I underestimated her. I suppose she was capable of a con after all.

* * *

Very Early Morning, Day 4 [events transcribed from Riffin's account]

I came to my senses slowly, not having a very comfortable rest. My body felt as though it had been thrown down a mountain and picked back up at the bottom. My eyes opened, and as my brain started to pull itself out of a dazed dreamlike state, I pieced together where I was. This was not my cave in the woods. It was a dusty wooden room. I coughed. So dusty. I missed the damp smell of my base of operations already.

My base! My work! I made a mental check to remember if I'd taken any materials with me. Alas, to no avail, I carried almost nothing. I hoped with all my heart that my work was still safe.

I moved my body, but I seemed to be bound to a chair with rope, and shackled as well. Not an opportune situation, but perhaps I could return to my base and scavenge what I could before making my escape. I did not know where I would go, but my temporary home had been found out, and it was not safe to return to any more. Furthermore, I knew I was being hunted by very powerful individuals, and I did not wish to incur their wrath again. First I needed to-

Oh no. What time was it?

I looked out the window and saw that it was dark. I had no idea how much time had passed, but it felt like too much. If I didn't maintain the upkeep on my spells that followed the demons I was tracking, I feared what could happen. It was a slim chance, but some of them may have already broken free of their contracts.

Assessing the situation, I began my work with the abilities I'd learned at the Millennium College.

My captors were both asleep, thankfully. That would make my escape much easier. I looked down at my hands, readying the somatic elements of my spell, and I paused. Sarenrae's mark glowed softly there: the wings outstretched, the gentle face with eyes closed in reflection. I issued forth a silent, heartfelt prayer for forgiveness from the most genuine part of my body, and hoped that the good goddess would bless me with her benevolent fortune. I tried to think as pure as I could. I didn't know what that meant, but I tried all the same.

Using a lit candle on the bedside as my focus, I muttered a spell I had practiced for weeks at the college. In a tiny flash of arcane energy, a small creature appeared before me. A fairy creature about eighteen inches tall with gossamer wings fluttered into the room from a crack in the dimensions. Her face was that of a beautiful elven woman, but her legs were very thin and insectlike. She twirled around aimlessly on an invisible updraft, eventually meeting my face with a look of mock surprise. I summoned her, so she had to have known I was there. Fey are playful even when life or death was at stake. Usually I found that charming, but I had much larger concerns at the moment.

I rustled my bindings a little bit. “A little help, friend?” I whispered in the smallest of voices, the air barely escaping my mouth.

She nodded and smiled wide, zooming to my back. After a minute or two, the ropes fell uselessly to my sides. I shook them off as the fey creature fluttered into my face expectantly.

I laughed a breathy chuckle. “Good job, you really helped me out. Just one more thing though.” I raised my hands, still bound by the manacles. I wiggled my feet too, gesturing to those. “Anything you can do about this?”

She thought for a moment. Then dove down to my feet. She pulled a tiny stick from her hair and stuck it into the hole where the key would unlatch. She angled it and poked at it for a couple minutes, but no luck. She put the stick exactly back where she grabbed it from and shook her head sadly.

“Aw, don't worry. Maybe one of these people have a key? I bet you could find it.”

Her face brightened immediately. She spotted the half-orc's bag sitting idly beside her bead, and she dove for it. She found it in a few seconds, turning and waving it around happily. It was like a magic wand in her hand.

“You did it! I knew you could.” She unlocked my shackles without a sound, being careful not to clang the metal bits together or jangle the chain unnecessarily. 

I stood up and patted myself down, ensuring I still had my spell component pouch. I would be needing it. “You did great, little buddy. I'll see you soon, okay?”

She gave me a quick thumbs up and tiny wink before she vanished from the material plane with a sparkly flourish, back to her home.

I needed to get to work now. There had been a few demons I'd been doing extensive research on. Part of that research meant that I had to pry some of the original summoner's mark away from the summoned creature. Not a lot, just enough to take a peek at their essence. I had to reapply that essence every so often, or the demon would sense a weakness in the bonds that held it, and would begin to resist its original master's command. That night, because of the big holy woman and the scary brigand man, I wasn't able to properly upkeep my spell to control them. I needed to dismiss the demons before they gained control and started hurting people. It might have been dangerous, and I might even be found out right away, but I had to. I could not run from this. It was only a matter of time.

I fled into the night, into the den of the demons, with the mark of Sarenrae still shining on my hand, hoping to right my wrongs.

* * *

Before Dawn, Day 4

I awoke to a scream, bolting up, my gun already out. It hadn't been the first time I'd might have needed to shoot something within the first five seconds of being awake, and it surely wouldn't have been the last. You develop those senses when you travel by yourself on the roadside. You also develop the ability to fall asleep immediately on command. Or maybe that was just me.

Agren was tearing up the room. The chair that Riffin was bound to no longer contained the boy. Cut ropes and open shackles lay around the chair in coiling piles.

“Gods damned magic users,” she shouted.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, seeing that there was no immediate threat. “Amen to that, sister. I hate the little shits.”

“Come on, we have to find him,” she said, snarling as she grabbed her scimitar and began pulling the straps on her armored bits.

I swung my feet out of bed and yawned. I was secretly glad the kid had managed to get away. Whatever Vizea had planned for him, he didn't deserve it. “Oh, come on. He disappeared in the middle of the night. He could be miles away by now. If he has any sense, he's fled. We'll never find him.”

The scream of a man outside broke the otherwise silent morning air.

Agren and I exchanged a look, eyes wide. We bolted out the door at the same time. Luckily for us, this kid didn't have any sense in him after all.

Both of us stood in the cool dewy forest air, weapons drawn and ears perked, searching for the source of the sound. It found us. A panting human rounded the corner of a building and ran towards us, chest heaving, his face a mask of absolute terror.

We stood our ground. I was about to ask what the problem was, but there was no need. As he ran past us, a woman rounded the corner he had just appeared from. I didn't need to guess if she was human or not. Her eyes were blazing yellow, her fingers exploded at the fingertips into elongated red claws, and her mouth was agape with rows of sharpened, six inch teeth. Her pant legs had been shredded, and now ended in bow legged gray calves and cloven hooves. Most grotesquely, her pale skin seemed to drip with a viscous red liquid, as if she were sweating angry rivulets of blood.

No doubt, shit was already hitting the fan.

The angry monster charged at us. I fired my pistol as she closed in, striking true. It barely fazed her. She didn't even slow down. I went to reload and fire once again, but Agren thrust her body in front of mine, blocking me with her back. She prepared her weapon against the creature.

“You idiot, you can't hurt her with those,” she yelled, raising her weapon in defense.

“What am I supposed to do then? Let it tear me to ribbons?”

She raised her holy symbol and shouted words in a language I couldn't understand. My weapon started radiating a soft light. I almost dropped it in surprise. “What is-”

“Shut up! Just shoot it!” She charged forward, flaming scimitar drawn. I took her cue, vaulting upwards with a single flap of my wings and firing a shot down onto the dripping monstrosity. The bullet went straight down its spinal cord, shocking it. Even on its face of inhuman rage, I could tell that it felt pain. Agren lashed out, taking advantage of the blow, and struck the unholy being across the chest, carving a deep wound. Crimson liquid dribbled from its torso like a zen waterfall.

I landed behind the creature and reloaded, intending to press the advantage. Agren had drawn the monster's aggression so that I could pelt it with attacks. Apparently, I wasn't the only one with that idea. A second, unseen creature snuck up on me, raking its sharp claws into my back, shredding my lower left wing. It caught me completely off guard. Even with my keen senses, I didn't hear a sound as it approached.

I almost passed out from the pain, but I stood my ground and took the blow. In one motion I spun and lifted off the ground, getting a bead on it. My injured wing hitched, but I pressed through the pain and stayed aloft. This second creature was almost identical to the first, but it seemed to have taken the guise of a bearded man. Warm trickles of blood ran down my back. My body hurt like hell, but I grit my teeth and fortified myself, steadying my aim and taking a shot. The creature dodged with unnatural speed, reacting to my bullet as if in slow motion.

The creature leapt up with it's powerful hoofed legs, swiping twice at me as I tried to fly out of its range. One claw went wide, but the other raked across my outstretched right arm. My vision went white and then red. My wings beat upwards with all my remaining strength.

I had lost a lot of blood. The coward in me screamed Run! Get out with your life and never return here. I saw Agren fighting below, locked in equal combat with the first monster. I saw the second creature land, dismiss me, and lock eyes on her.

My resolve hardened, inflexible as steel. If I should break, so be it. But I would not sacrifice this one who had sacrificed so much for me already.

Taking a vial from my bandolier and chugging it, I felt a surge of strength course into my body. A wave of confidence washed over me. I knew that feeling was just the magical chemicals talking, but they had my attention nonetheless, and I was listening.

I dove headfirst, held my gun steady and fired a single glowing bullet down into the fray. As if guided by Sarenrae herself, it passed through the torso of the second leaping creature and buried itself into the brain of the first, ending its life.

Without missing a beat, Agren pushed the lifeless corpse of the demon woman into the new attacker, using it as a shield. The monster was buffeted backwards and skid into the dirt. I landed right on top of it, using the weight of my whole body to knock it to the ground. Agren took the opportunity to chant, focusing her energy into the golden symbol. In the low light before dawn, her aura glowed in a huge radius, bathing the nearby buildings in her divine inner fire. 

The monster stood, pushing me from it, knocking me onto the ground in an instant. As I raised my gun, it lunged down onto me for a desperate, angry blow, and a wave of force simultaneously burst from Agren's sword, enveloping the monster. A gush of pleasantly warm air blew through me, as if my body temporarily melded with the wind and the light that surrounded me. The top half the monster's body was completely annihilated. The legs fell limply to the ground, with smoldering cinders still eating away at the remains.

I breathed deep, processing the end of the battle. Slowly and with effort, I stood, drops of fresh blood marking the ground around me. “Shit, if you were trying to convince me you actually could take this whole village by yourself, you make your friggin' point.”

A nasty gash arced across her cheek and trailed blood down her face. She was wounded, but it wasn't mortal. I think I got off worse, honestly. The little bastards were sneaky. I just hoped there weren't more hiding around the corner. I wasn't sure if I could take another hit like that.

As if on cue, more screams came from the north, where Pinefell's largest cluster of buildings were. The sounds of splintering wood and shattering glass came shortly after. We both bolted towards the noise.

In front of us, a harrowing scene unfolded. Houses were smashed. Entire rooms were gutted, and ceilings had fallen. A nightmarish toad-like monster was rampaging through the small village on all fours, breaking apart the sturdily built log cabins like child's toys. A few people came out of their houses to see what was happening. I couldn't tell if they were real people or disguised demons, but they all looked scared just the same.

Agren and I kept running. When we got close enough to smell it, I figured out what it was: a hezrou. Sharp ridges of spikes lined down its wide head and muscled back. Eight feet tall, upwards of seven hundred pounds of pure strength. Its arms were like uprooted tree trunks, getting wider as they went and ending in knobbly, sharply clawed fingers. Its whole body was dotted in boils that leaked yellow pus. The smell was like rotted meat drenched in bog sweat.

I recalled a few tidbits I'd heard: not an entity to take lightly, the hezrou's only desire is to deform nature and corrupt its surroundings into twisted abominations. I thought about the whispers I'd heard around Little Ivywood about dangerous creatures recently appearing around the woods, and how the trail from Ivywood to Pinefell was particularly perilous. A rampant hezrou could single-handedly be responsible for an increase of wildlife aggression in the area. Even disguised as a human, totally suppressing a force as powerful as a hezrou was next to impossible. No doubt, the recent agitation of this demon was the cause.

Equally as unexpected, another creature stood in the center of this cluster of houses: Riffin Lohart, the idiot boy. Despite the hulking mass of raging evil that barreled towards him, he stood his ground, channeling a spell. I didn't know what kind of spell could possibly have saved this poor lad who was about to be turned into demon frog chow, but he didn't stop, even when the hezrou had set his sights on him. I would have respected it if it wasn't just so stupid.

The demon crashed through another building on his way to the boy. A bystander who was slow to move out of the way was struck by the hezrou's thick, thrashing arms, and flung ten feet in the other direction. It frothed and panted and showed no sign of slowing.

Just then, Agren cast a small spell of her own, and the hezrou stopped, almost within arm's length of the boy. It turned to us with a booming, gurgling battle cry and charged towards the paladin instead.

“Icarus, you ready to kill yourself a demon?” Agren asked, sounding scarily excited.

I chugged another vial and wiped the blood spatter from my face. “Always ready.”

* * *

Sunrise, Day 4

“Get close, you're going to need this,” Agren said, pulling an amulet from underneath her robes. I did as she said, not fully understanding. The hezrou stampeded closer to us. Thirty feet. Twenty feet.

A shockwave of light rippled past me as Agren crushed the amulet in her palm. The hezrou stopped, flinching at the sudden radiant aura. My lungs filled with oxygen. My weapon felt hot, almost burning. I raised it to shoot, and saw it glow with a shining light, stronger than the one she had cast on it before. I couldn't help but feel hope, even at the grim harbinger death that stood before me. That hope blossomed into a battle frenzy that I could not suppress, and I felt my blood run cold. The wind around me stilled. Noises went silent. The adrenaline hit my bloodstream and I felt alive in a way that even gods could not imagine.

I flew directly at the beast. Though the hezrou was cruel, it was a high level demon, and it was intelligent. I was glad, because it was an enemy with enough cognizance to recognize my fury, and for a fraction of a second that would have been imperceptible to me only moments before, I saw the dim glimmer of fear in its eyes.

I aimed for that glimmer, and I hit.

To its credit, the beast didn't even slow down as one of its eyes burst open like a water balloon at a carnival shooting gallery. It stayed its course, passively swiping at me as it sprinted headlong towards Agren, her scimitar raised in defense.

The beast crashed down, slamming its thick arms into her as she struck out against it. Apparently the beast had not adjusted to the sudden loss of its depth perception, as it swung wide with reckless fury again and again. Agren dodging the blows, one after the other as they came for her, all of them missing the mark by inches.

Having taken a few hits now, it struck out once more, managing to carve a line of marks through the paladin's robes and armor. She steeled herself the best she could, but I saw her flinch. I suddenly realized that Agren was way out of her depth. Even if she wielded powerful magic and a righteous sword arm, she was still only mortal. If the hezrou landed one solid blow, it could end her life. I wouldn't let that happen.

Evidently, neither would Riffin. He ran up beside me, still channeling his spell. The magic he was attempting to cast was taking a heavy toll on his body. He writhed and squirmed as he lurched forward, his eyes drifting in and out of focus. He barely seemed to notice me. Odd, since I was one of the people who'd just knocked him out and ripped him from his makeshift home merely hours before. The kid really had no sense at all.

“Riffin! What are you doing here?” I shouted in between volleys of bullets. I had to take my time to aim, now that Agren was engaged. I couldn't risk hitting her. “Shouldn't you be clear out of town by now?”

He grunted, his hands shaking. “No, this is my fault. I have to fix this.” Riffin pushed harder on his spell, uttering words in a language I didn't recognize. “This thing needs to go back!” He yelled as he intensified his spell, pouring all his energy into it, seemingly to no real effect.

“You're a wanted man, you realize? Even if you rid this thing, you're still toast in the eyes of the law.” More volleys of shots, with pauses to reload. My fingers flew like the conductor in an endlessly practiced symphony of violence. Pow! Ka-chink. Pow! Ka-chink. Pow! Ka-chink. Agren struggled, but somehow managed to barely escape death, blow after blow. Her time was running out, though. She was already bleeding badly.

“I don't care,” Riffin said. What a lunatic. Gods damn it, I was starting to like the damn kid. I just had to respect suicidal tenancies in the face of great danger. That was one of my many, many great weaknesses.

In my haste, I must have loaded the last bullet in my chamber wrong, because it misfired with a dull thud, sending a plume of black powder smoke into my face. I hesitated, which was bad. Hesitation in combat gets you killed. So I decided: screw it. I was already neck deep in shit, might as well dive in all the way. 

“Alright then. Do your thing, you idiot.” In one seamless movement I holstered my gun and unhooked a thin vial containing a bright blue liquid from my bandolier. “Open wide, no questions,” I said, and uncorked it. To my surprise, he listened. Or maybe he was just opening up his mouth to ask a question. Either way, I shoved the bottle in Riffin's mouth and tilted it up, forcing him to down the ounce of liquid. He choked a bit, but maintained concentration on his spell. Whatever it was, I hoped it was a doozy, and that it would be finished soon. Preferably before the entire population had been crushed by this thing.

That potion was my last line of defense against all this crazy stuff. It was designed so that demons couldn't lay a hand (or tentacle, or feeler, or whatever) on you. I was told that they'd be repulsed by your presence, and it would keep you safe against any of their natural physical attacks. Hopefully the potion was what the merchant said it was, and not just colorful swill. Cost me a pretty penny. Plus, if it didn't work, Riffin was about to become a smear of bloody paste.

I stowed my weapon – I'd be needing both hands – and sped toward Agren. She was on her last legs. Her movements were sloppy and her strikes didn't have as much punch to them any more. We needed to do something drastic, and soon.

“Agren, we're going up!” I shouted, diving for her. She immediately responded, raising her hand to meet mine, using her other hand to focus a spell into her symbol of Sarenrae. I felt the small backblast of a shockwave hit the Hezrou. It staggered backward for moment, giving me the opportunity I needed. I dove, lifting Agren up. She was heavy, and I wasn't particularly strong. I struggled to get her more than five feet into the air. Oh shit, I miscalculated, I thought.

As if reading my mind, Agren waved her free hand over her armor. It seemed to melt into sunlight, dripping off her body and leaving her with a simple cloth outfit underneath. I didn't question it; weirder things had happened in the last few days. Without her armor, she was many pounds lighter now, and that was all that mattered. I used all my strength to yank her up and over the hezrou just as it came to its senses and lashed out, barely missing us both.

I flew her up, straining as hard as I could, even without the weight of her vestments. “We're only gonna get one shot at this, so make it count,” I told her, grunting as I hoisted the weight of her heavy frame higher and higher. “What the heck happened to your armor? Did it just melt?”

Agren's eyes were closed as she moved her glowing hands across her wounds, sealing them. She took sharp, pained breaths. “Had to put it somewhere. Flung it on that kid.” She pointed below her and sure enough, Riffin was still casting, but now clad in the blue, gold, and white flowing armor and robes of Sarenrae. It looked ill-fitting on him, like a child playing dress up in his father's clothes. Still, he focused his spell as if nothing happened.

“He might need it, honestly,” I said as I watched the hezrou glare up at us before casting its gaze around to target another victim. Riffin was the closest thing to it. It charged like diseased battering ram.

I flew up over Riffin, climbing twenty, twenty-five, thirty feet. The hezrou lumbered toward him, raising its arms to strike. I looked down at Agren, making eye contact. Wordlessly, we gave an agreement.

I let Agren fall over the hezrou and she plummeted down towards it, weapon outstretched. The hezrou reached Riffen and struck out, but the blows glanced off him as if buffeted back by blasts of air. Riffin held his ground, to his credit. He was nearly on the verge of tears, almost ready to collapse. He poured his entire being into channeling this spell.

When Riffin seemed like he might finally break, turn tail and run, Agren landed. A geyser of white light painted the orange sky as she struck the beast squarely through the head, her curved scimitar emerging out the bottom of its wide jaw. Its flesh blackened and cracked. Blood painted the ground beneath it, a dark bubbling ichor.

The hezrou grinned. Though wounded, it was not yet dead. 

Agren tried to pull her sword from the beast, but wasn't fast enough. The hezrou reached up and grabbed Agren easily, squeezing her. Armorless, she screamed out, and the demon threw her into the collapsed building behind Riffin, where she lay in a heap. She struggled to stand, but could only muster the strength to make it to one knee. Slowly, it walked right by the boy and advanced on her, aiming to deal a final blow.

I felt powerless. My gun smoked, still damaged. Agren was weaponless on death's door, and I had led her to it. Riffin looked ready to cry, hands still held out in arcane focus. The hapless villagers-

Oh yeah. The villagers were mostly demons.

To my surprise, several of the people onlooking the fight suddenly transformed. Some shrunk much smaller, becoming bright red, stocky, and winged. A few stretched, their mouths contorting into snapping alligator jaws, their bodies liquefying into a murky swirling ooze. Two of them materialized halberds into their hands, large goat horns sprouting and spiraling out from their foreheads. It was hard to get a good look, but I swear that one of them was Nellen, the elven shopkeeper from town.

It didn't matter that they were demons. For whatever reason, this was their home, and their home was being destroyed. They wanted to take a stand.

The ooze monsters lurched toward the hezrou slowly, converging on it. Much more quickly, the small red imp-like demons darted toward the hezrou and hurled bolts of arcane force at it, seeming to hold it in place. Agren's eyes went wide as the demons circled around her, seemingly defending her from the blighted juggernaught. The spear-wielders struck out at the paralyzed hezrou, gouging its sides. Its face froze in a bug-eyed mask of rage, its body frozen like a statue. The blood still dripped, pooling below it.

From behind, Riffin screamed. “I won't let you hurt these people! I won't let you destroy this village!” He shoved, pushing all his force into the last seconds of his desperate spell and nearly fainting onto the cold ground, still clad in Agren's heavy armor.

The demons swarmed around the hezrou. The oozes held it in place, gathering like muck around its legs and arms, covering its body. The ones with leathery wings clawed at it, and the ones with heads like goats jabbed at it with their weapons. The hezrou flexed, breaking free of the paralysis somewhat and trying to reassert control over its body. It tried to swat away the oozes, but it was too trapped in their gelatinous bodies. With no momentum behind its blows, it struggled uselessly.

Just then, something appeared over the hezrou. It was a thin blue spike of light that arced through the demon's body vertically. I could only describe it as a crack in the very fabric of space. If I angled my head, it seemed like I could look through it and into a sea of impossibly chaotic waves. The crack grew wider and wider, becoming a hole ten feet in each direction, and paper thin. The hezrou lifted its arms with great effort, wrestling with a powerful unseen force. 

Then it was sucked into Riffin's portal. Imagine a glove being turned inside out, but the inner fabric of the glove was invisible. A bit hard to watch, to be perfectly honest. Poof, gone, just like that. The portal dissipated, and Riffin keeled over on the bloodied dirt.

A few of the demons got dragged in with it, but most managed to avoid the closing of the portal. The flying ones touched down. Almost all of them began transforming back to their original human forms, though some of them stayed as they were, enjoying the temporary freedom.

I flew down, feeling guilty that I hadn't actually contributed much towards helping kill the hezrou. Even Riffin busted out some crazy magic in the end. All things said, I might have even done more harm than good to Agren. I rushed over to her, eyeing the kid on the way. He wasn't dead, thankfully. Just unconscious. We'd figure out what to do with him in a jiffy. For now, I wanted to make sure Agren was okay.

She wasn't. Her arms and legs were badly bleeding. I could already see large patches of dark, yellowing bruises swell up on her body. I expected her to start healing herself like she usually did, but she didn't. Instead, she staggered out of the pile of logs and broken glass that used to constitute a home, and began seeking out injured villagers. As she went, I didn't see her muttering with her symbol in the peculiar way she usually did, which was her way of sensing the presence of evil. She simply started healing anybody that came to her. For those that could not muster the strength to stand, she went to them. She cast her light over the wounded and the bleeding and the battered, mending broken bones and sealing gashes.

Inspired, I followed her lead. I learned some rudimentary first aid to patch myself up while I was traveling by myself. If it could help these villagers, I would do what I could.

A few hours passed as Agren and I aided the villagers, human and demon alike. We searched for survivors in the ruined houses, patched up the ones who were badly hurt, and tried to undo the damage that had been done. Agren stripped her armor from the still unconscious Riffin and donned it once again.

We brought the boy back to the inn, where the new innkeeper's mood changed from outward dislike to somber respect. We brought Riffin upstairs, cleaned the blood off him, and tidied him up. We worked silently. I didn't like the silence. It made me nervous.

“So,” I said noncommittally, not sure how to begin.

Agren remained quiet.

“What's your plan for the boy after this?” I asked in a way that I hoped was casual. “Still gonna turn him in?”

“Let me tell you what I learned from the villagers while I was tending to them,” Agren replied, dodging my question. “There was a woman who was badly hurt in the attack. Her home was entirely destroyed. She's going to have to start over from scratch after all this.”

“Is she a demon?” I asked, sensing a pause in the conversation. 

She ignored me again. “When she started living in Pinefell, it was a new town, only about a decade old. It gained more people slowly over the years. Lady Vizea looked after them. She was here from the very start. She managed the guards, the work shifts, the building labor. Exports and imports. Life was fairly easy. They benefited from the trade of artisanal goods from Little Ivywood, supplying materials and raking in a tidy profit. This woman always knew there were dark secrets about the town. People would disappear if they pried too much. Holy people and religion were shunned. Many occupants were distant and strange.”

“I know your mission said to-”

“But she likes it in Pinefell,” Agren continued. “For the many years she's been here, she's never been happier. She's even married. Isn't that nice?” Her voice was distant and flat. I worried.

Silence fell between us again. Neither of us moved. I stared at my feet, thinking. “Look, this is your mission. I can get what I need out of this town regardless of what you decide is right.”

Agren turned on me. “You're washing your hands clean of it, just like that? You act like this is not your responsibility.” Her voice was cold. “Is he not your responsibility, either? You won't be bothered to stay your hand in deciding his fate?”

“No,” I said, suddenly defensive. “Neither should you. He's a dumb kid and he needs to learn the consequences of his actions. But it's his life, and he should do what he wants. He should be allowed to live it. I think he's stood his ground today, and that counts for something. I wouldn't hold you to anything less. If he's worth saving, allow him to pass judgement on himself.”

Agren softened and went quiet again. Damn, I liked it better when she was loud. Least I didn't have to feel so bad about myself. 

“Is he not redeemed?” I asked in a quiet voice.

No response.

* * *

Afternoon, Day 4

We rested for a short while as I repaired my pistol and Agren cleaned her armor. I laid down, closing my eyes. I must have fallen asleep, because when I opened them again, Agren and the kid were both gone from the room. The early morning sun had broke into a cool daylight. I grabbed my things and headed downstairs. Before I left the building, the innkeeper mentioned to me that Agren had gone to Vizea. I asked him if the kid was still unconscious when she left. He said that he was.

I didn't want that kid to come face to face with Vizea. He surely didn't deserve the punishment that she was fully capable of dishing out. He was young and dumb and too strong for his own good. So was I, at one point. Maybe I still am.

When I arrived at Vizea's mansion, the guards were expecting me. Agren was already present. To my surprise, the boy was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully he'd gotten away. I guess Agren had been waiting in the lobby for over an hour, because, evidently, Vizea wouldn't see her unless we were both together. Just as well. I didn't wanna know what would have happened to Agren if she'd charged into Vizea's chambers by herself and said something stupid without me to hold her back. The best strategy to dealing with the upper class is to hold your tongue and make them think they're in control, and then sass them when they turn around. Unless they show weakness, that is. Then you tear into them with all the force you can muster.

Vizea's house was still as grotesquely rococo and macabre as I remembered. Her paintings were horrifying, and not even a confrontation with actual demons could dull the frightening hold they had on me. 

The same tiefling servant guided us to Vizea's room with a snarky grin, like she knew something we didn't. She smiled at us as we arrived at the familiar double doors. “Vizea is ready to receive you now. Mind your manners,” she said with a laugh and turned away, ready to attend to business more important than us.

We stepped into Vizea's workroom, which was much tidier than before. Only a small collection of clutter was still gathered around her simple workspace in the back corner. The large painting she had been working on had been draped with a fine black cloth, covering it. Vizea sat in the center of the room, facing us as we entered, lounging on a sleek metal chair – silver, perhaps even platinum – detailed with gold. A teapot and an assortment of cookies and small pastries were set out in front of her on a low table beside two more unoccupied chairs.

“See what a bit of notice can do for the both of us?” Vizea said, motioning to the spread of snacks. “Some hospitality is in order after the ordeal you have both been through. Come, sit. Enjoy.”

Agren and I stepped through the door, which shut behind us with a low thud. We were once again in Vizea's cloudy world of spotless light. Just like before, I felt like I was floating. A feeling of powerlessness washed over me. That feeling was replaced by dumb hunger as I began powering through a few mini eclairs and custard tarts. When in doubt, think with your stomach.

“I am pleased to know that the summoner was taken care of. You two did splendidly,” Visea said, daintily pouring us both cups of strong-smelling rosehip tea.

I stopped eating for a moment and looked at Agren expectantly, buttercream still on my face. I still had no idea what happened to Riffin. I should have asked before we came in here. It was too late now.

“Of course,” Vizea continued, “neither of you have any physical proof that the disturbance was ended permanently, so if any more problems arise, there will be dire consequences for the both of you. I hope you understand the conditions of your agreement.”

“Uhhh, well,” I stammered, not sure what to say. I signaled Agren for help with my pleading eyes. I also tried to say where is Riffin? and you gotta try these macarons, they're so good, but I didn't think it got across.

“I'd like to know more about the history of this town, if you wouldn't mind.” Agren was much more composed than her last visit. She didn't even have her hand on her mace this time.

“Oh, this little town? It's a rather boring affair. You wouldn't be interested.”

“Try me.”

Vizea's mouth split into a grin and her eyes narrowed in a way that made me recall the sound of sharpening steel. “Very well. I trust that you'd like the unabridged version, if you've come this far?”

Agren nodded. I slowly reached for my cup of tea.

“Pinefell has not been around for very long. I believe it's been four hundred and seventy-three years since I first settled down in these quaint woods. Back then, Little Ivywood was hardly the rich cultural hub it was today. I do attribute its growth partly to my humble village.

“As you know, I am an artist. Yet, when I arrived, I had few materials and fewer subjects to paint. So, I decided that I would need servants to help me. I called them to serve me, to do menial labor, and to supply me with what I needed for my craft. I traded wood and game with Little Ivywood for a meager pittance, but it was slow going. My desire for fine materials grew, and I needed servants to do more work for longer hours. I also had to ensure that my servants were not exposed for their true natures, and that others did not question where such a vast quantity of materials were suddenly being procured from; and so, Pinefell was born.”

“So you admit that your subjects are demons?” Agren asked.

Vizea laughed like a ray of cold sunlight. “They are my vassals. They swear fealty to me, and I protect them. Moreover, they are my wonderful models. If you wish to evoke life, you must draw from life, after all.”

I felt Agren tense like a crackle of electricity. From the corner, I could feel malice radiating from the painting underneath. The image had already been burned into my mind from our last visit, and if I focused, I could lay an almost perfect reimagining of the unfinished painting over the brown covering.

“I am interested in these creatures, these demons” Vizea continued. “I am interested in what drives them, what makes them so feared and so hated. I am interested in perverting that evil intent to my own desires, and sculpting it into something new, perhaps more productive. You have seen the results of my work with your own eyes. Not just my paintings, but my true work. An entire village full of domesticated abyssal. Isn't it wondrous? Unheard of? Blasphemous, even?” She smiled wide, then took a careful sip of tea. It was obvious that she was trying to provoke Agren.

“Not all of them are demons. There are real people among them, living normal lives. Did you bring them here as well?”

“The mortals outside have their own free will. The demons are my property. They bring me what I want, and they may do as they like, provided that the secret of this place is kept hidden. Outside of that, how they live and how they die are of no concern to me. As long as I have what I need, they have fulfilled their purpose. Their existence to me is incidental, negligible. Like pond scum.”

Agren's body stiffened. “You're wrong. All life has meaning. These people deserve to live their lives, regardless of how they've chosen them.”

Agren cried out in pain as if she'd been struck. Her jaw went slack and her arms went limp. Vizea took another sip of tea. “You have so little understanding of what I am, poor child. Your convictions are idiotic. Your faith leaves you blind and dumb. Your powers are a plaything.”

Still gasping, Agren spoke each word between sharp inward breaths. “My powers saved your people.”

“I have no people.” Vizea's voice grew colder. The room grew a shade darker, though there were still no shadows to be found. “I merely have the strength to survive, and the power to exert my will on those beneath me. I have rendered these chaotic beings into tools for my own use. They are no longer a threat, and that is thanks to me. As long as you are strong, you can pervert even the most primal, instinctual essence to bend its fealty to you.”

I piped up. “That hezrou in town didn't seem to think you were hot shit.”

Vizea seemed to gather a modicum of calm. The room brightened again. She might have forgotten I was present. “Yes, that is why I charged both of you to deal with that little problem. It was a small abnormality in the centuries-old web of power I've weaved over this town. These things happen. In less than a week, it will be as though nothing had ever happened here. Order will be maintained.”

“So that's it?” Agren asked, still trying to level her breathing. “Things will just go back to the way they were?”

“That's the plan”

The two of them stared off against each other like duelists waiting for the toll of the noon bell. I slowly crammed another tiramisu into my mouth.

Agren stood. “I'd like to take my leave now. I thank you for your hospitality.”

With a wave of her hand, the door behind us opened. “It's been a pleasure.”

Promptly, she turned and left, leaving me alone with Vizea. She handed me a blue handkerchief made of expensive looking linen. “You have something on your face.”

I had a lot of stuff on my face, actually. I cleaned myself up and set the cloth on the table. “Sorry for my, uh, friend.”

“No need to apologize. She finished her task. I cannot fault her for that, regardless of her unchecked temper.”

“Yeah,” I said distractedly, thinking about Riffin. I hoped he was safe, after all this. He deserved as much. “You've gotten what you wanted. Now let me ask my questions.”

She held up a hand. “Patience. My inspiration has been sparked by this conversation. It is a rare occasion. I must return to my work for today.”

I stood now, getting a bit angry. “But you told me-”

“I believe I have made clear that my word is law in Pinefell. You will respect that law.”

I hate nobles. They always pull the noble card.

She held her palm out. “Your necklace. I'd like to see it, if you'd please. Allow me to hold onto it for tonight, and I promise I will have information for you in the morning.”

I hesitated, but decided it would be stupid to refuse. Still, it made me uneasy to remove the locket and place it in her hand. The weight of the chain, locket, and bullet had become a familiar comforting feeling around my neck, and I missed it immediately.

With that, she whisked me away with barely a word. Her servant met me outside the door and asked me to return first thing in the morning. Vizea would meet with me then.

I left the house and walked down the garden path to the wrought iron gates, which shut behind me. I felt naked, like I'd been swindled. 

I needed a drink.

* * *

Evening, Day 4

I took my time walking through the village. The destruction was widespread and severe, but the people here had already started to rebuild. They did so without complaint and without hesitation, tearing down some of the foundations if they had to, reconstructing it back up. It amazed me how one creature could do so much damage, splinter logs so easily, treating tree trunks as if they were playthings. Seeing the villagers hard at work, I almost forgot that most of them were demons. I felt a bit less guilty of my own involvement at the thought of that, but I wished them all a swift recovery nevertheless.

To my surprise, Agren was already at the bar when I arrived, nursing a tall ale from a chipped tankard. It was a small room that barely managed to squeeze in two tables. A pair of tapped barrels took up most of the space behind the marked-up bar counter. I took seat beside her. She didn't look up.

“Hey, I thought you didn't drink,” I said, elbowing her.

She took a long sip. “I'm discovering a lot about myself, I guess.”

“How is it?”

She shrugged. “Tastes like piss.”

“Yeah, beer's not my favorite, either.”

A minute or two went by, Agren quietly feeling sorry for herself. Me, feeling sorry for her. I knew she just wanted to do the right thing. Sometimes the right thing is complicated. Maybe I should have told her that. Instead I asked, “Where's the kid? He take off?”

Agren shook her head. “He's still in town, actually.”

“That's dangerous. What if Vizea finds him? I'd be shocked if they even have a prison here. Whatever happens to him if he gets caught by her is going to be much worse than rotting in a cell.”

“I told him so. He said he didn't care. Said he wanted to stay and help fix up the town he messed up.”

“That's suicide, you know that. Vizea might already realize he's still here.”

“The people living here said they'd keep it quiet and keep him hidden, apparently. I don't think any of them even realize this whole situation was his fault. He talked to them, said they 'weren't all that bad', if you can believe it. He'll be out of here in a week's time and off to look for honest work, putting his skills to some practical use.”

“Damn. Well, good luck to him. A toast, huh?” I looked around the place, but Agren and I seemed to be the only ones in here. “Where's the bartender at?”

Not looking away from her glass, Agren pointed in front of her. I looked, and a black-feathered tengu seemed to have suddenly materialized behind the bar. I did a double take. It was Prinn, from the Hooded Fox back in Little Ivywood.

He bowed curtly. “Can I get you anything, my fine, ragged fellow?”

“What the hell are you doing here? You pull double shifts from out of town?”

Prinn laughed. “One does not come about sensitive information by staying put, and I deal in alcohol far less than I deal in knowledge.”

“He's a demon, Icarus,” Agren said tiredly.

Shocked, I stared deeply at Prinn, as if trying to find some seam in his disguise that would betray him. He threw up his taloned, manicured hands. “It's true, I'm afraid. I gather information for Lady Vizea. Bartending is simply a means to the end.” He smiled and steepled his claws together. “Now, what can I get you?”

“Wait, you're not going to tell her about Riffin, are you?” I asked, growing a bit panicked.

“I tell her everything. I must. It's why I was brought here. And before you try it,” he added, seeing me fish for coins from my purse, “know that buying my silence is much more expensive than buying my tongue.”

Slowly, worriedly, I placed my last gold coin on the counter. Agren stopped me. “It's on me. I'm a woman of my word.” She pulled out a coin of her own, pushing my money back to me.

I smiled. It had been a hell of a long time since someone bought me a drink. “Well then, I'll take a rusty cutlass, on the rocks.”

“Sorry, our selection of hard liquor is a bit limited here.”

“A dark and stormy, then.”

“All out.”

“I don't suppose you have any daggermark drip?”

“Can't say we do.”

“A glass of three sheets?”

“Nope.”

“Fire in the hole?”

“You know that fire in the hole is mixed with two-thirds kill-devil rum, yes? Maybe a bit insensitive, given the circumstances?”

“... a pint of grog, then.”

Prinn took the coin and flipped up a glass in one swift move. “Sounds like a fine choice, my boy,” he said, filling the cup from one of the two taps behind him.

“You sure you don't want to just, I dunno, forget you saw Riffin in town? You know, maybe it slipped your mind in all the chaos recently.”

With a flourish, Prinn placed my frothing glass of alcohol in front of me. “Maybe it did, I'm not sure. Don't worry about it. I have a feeling that everything is going to work out.”

Hesitant, I raised my glass. “A toast to Riffin, then.”

Agren raised her glass next to mine in a toast, then put it down beside me. “Finish this for me, will you? I don't think alcohol is my thing after all.”

“Fair enough.” I chugged the glass. It was bad. “So, what's your plan after this? Still gonna raze the village?”

“I'll return to my temple, explain the situation. Sarenrae has given me a lot to think about. This is a very... unique situation. I think it should be handled delicately.”

“What happened to the person who walked into Pinefell two days ago? The one who said they could single-handedly burn this whole place to the ground?”

“I was wrong to say that, I admit. I was stupid for thinking that I could solve this problem with brute strength. Strength must be tempered by sound judgment and compassion if one wishes to do good in the world. I knew that. That is what Sarenrae has taught me, but it's easy to be blinded by prejudice. I never want to be a person who exerts their will over others with a contest of strength. I want to be a force of selfless virtue. That is why I fight.”

I agreed with that, mostly. “I'm trying to hunt down a demon. A particular one. But I don't think I want to do it for entirely selfless reasons. Yeah, I think there's a lot of shitty demons out there – no offense taken, Prinn – that come to the material plane just to cause suffering. I do want to end that sufferering, for sure. I want to make a difference too. But mostly, I want fame. I want to be remembered. You think Sarenrae respects that?”

“I don't know, I'm not her,” Agren said, looking upward. “If you wish for her blessing, merely ask for it and pray.” She turned her eyes to me. Her face was still bruised and cut from the battle before, but there were also dozens of small scars where injuries from previous battles had healed over. A recognition dawned on me that she might have been doing this kind of thing for years, possibly even a decade, or longer. 

Agren got up from the bar. “I can tell you what I respect, Icarus. Have conviction. Don't pursue something mindlessly, but have something to stand for. Hold yourself accountable for the things you do, and the things you've done, both good and bad. Better than that, have someone to rely on. Someone who will rely on you as well. Others make you strong. Who or what you believe in is up to you, but once you find it, hold on to it.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” During my days on the high seas, I had people I trusted. I put my life in their hands every day, and they put their lives in mine. Those were hard times, dangerous times. I was miserable. But that trust, it felt good. I missed that.

“I'm glad you stopped me from acting too rashly. I might have actually gone and tried to burn down this whole village if you hadn't been here. I know Sarenrae would not have allowed it.”

I laughed. “Well, that would have been bad for me too. I still need some info out of Vizea. Besides, I won't kill people unless they really deserve it, regardless of what they believe. I've been a shitty person before, but I think that everybody deserves a fair chance at life, no matter who they used to be.”

Agren smiled. “If that is how you truly feel, than I'm sure Sarenrae's blessing will find you. She and I will pray for your redemption. I hope that fortune finds you well. Even if you are a pirate.” She headed for the door. “I'll see you out on the road, Icarus. Safe travels.”

“You too,” I said as she headed out into the forest, long shadows cast from where the setting sun could find an opening to break through the trees. I wasn't worried. She could handle herself on the road. She'd be fine wherever she went.

I had almost forgotten the presence of Prinn, still standing behind the bar. “Another drink, sir?”

I held out my glass. “Fill 'er up.”

All that stuff about gods didn't sit well with me, but I appreciated where she was coming from. I had my beliefs, and I wanted to test them myself before I went scrambling for somebody else's. The gods were all well and good for others, but I didn't want them to taint the values that I'd come to on my own terms. I had found my own path, and I'd walk it myself. But I was intrigued, all the same.

I went back to the inn. Agren had left town, just as she said. I wasn't sure if I would ever see her again, but that was okay. She'd given me a lot to think about. Even if we did meet, I'd need time to finally decide what it all meant.

* * *

Morning, Day 5

It was a rainy morning. The ceiling in the inn leaked badly. Thankfully not on me or my sheets, but there were still puddles here and there on the floor, these spots visibly warped from what had evidently been many heavy rainfalls and many leaky nights.

I gathered my things, preparing to depart for Vizea's manor and leave town before any more wacky shit happened to me. Plus, I had to admit that I did feel slightly nervous at the prospect of constantly being surrounded by people that may or may not have been demons.

Before I left, the innkeeper stopped me. He said that the half-orc I was with had left me something. It was a small envelope, unmarked. She had written it yesterday, before she left, but was instructed to give it to me that morning.

Thanking him, I opened it. It contained a simple ring and a short letter. I pocketed the ring for the moment and opened the letter. The handwriting was messy, but legible. I read it, trying my best to mimic the sound of Agren's gruff voice in my head.

To Icarus,

I think I've finally figured out Vizea's true nature. I'm not a hundred percent certain, but if it's true, you might be able to leverage some kind of power over her. Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but one day. She is powerful, make no mistake about that. More powerful than you or I can know, I suspect. But she is fallible, and she has weaknesses.

To tell you the truth, I don't agree with what's happening in this village. I think this whole situation is pretty bad. Someone like Vizea shouldn't be allowed to have this much influence over this many people. I promise I won't raze the village, honest. But my church has to come to a solution. I will complete this mission in some capacity, in one way or another. It might be tough, but I promise you that Vizea will eventually get her just desserts. If she will not disband peacefully, she has to die. What comes afterwards may be messy, and it may cost lives, but that is my conviction. I hope you can respect this.

If you want to have a glimpse of what she truly is, put that ring on your finger. It contains a minor enchantment that will allow you to see her true form. I will caution you that what you experience might be shocking, so try to pretend like you don't see it. Steel yourself. If she expects that you know what she is, she may try to kill you, or worse. Tread lightly.

It's a dangerous world out there, but I expect to meet you again someday. Don't go dying before I do.

Your ally,  
Agren Kurdosh.

Ally, huh? Not friend? I wondered which one was more of a compliment, coming from her. I pocketed the letter, folding it up nicely. I turned my attention to the ring. It was a thin silver band, carved with a motif of spiraling ivy. I put it on my right ring finger. Nothing seemed to immediately happen. Maybe it just worked on Vizea? It'd make sense when I got there, hopefully.

I arrived at the manor. The guards were expecting me and let me in right away. Like before, I was led up through the gallery of the grotesque, thinking that perhaps her servant had been directed to take guests the long way around to Vizea's room, so they might sample her works whenever they visited. Shameless.

Like before, the tiefling servant and I approached Vizea's drawing room. Unlike before, an overwhelming feeling of dread began to overtake me as we drew closer to it. This must have been the effects of the ring taking place. I prepared myself for whatever lay beyond the door.

I should have prepared myself more. I wasn't ready. Luckily, Vizea was occupied with her painting, varnishing it with a glossy coat of something. If she had been looking at me when the door opened, the unfiltered shock that registered on my face would have given me away in an instant. 

Her appearance had transformed completely. Instead of her natural tan skin, her body was a deep marbled jade, cracks running throughout it like rivers on an atlas. Two white feathered wings spread out behind her, reaching eight feet in each direction. The edge of her left wing actually seemed to pass through the wall of the room, unnoticed by her. A halo floated inches above her head, but instead of the light golden color that I'd come to expect from angelic figures in classical frescoes, it shone a dark, mind-numbingly black shade. It was like the absence of anything, sucking light into it. I could hardly look away. It seemed to posses me. Even from the side, I could tell that her eyes shone a bright glowing blue, the color reflecting off her newly finished painting.

Above all, she radiated an aura that seemed to reach out and curl around my mind. I was almost stunned. It filled the room, rising upwards from her body, flickering like flames, filtering through shades of blue, purple, and deep, deep crimson. It was an overwhelming presence that squeezed the breath from me and hurt to look at, like gazing directly at the sun. I looked away, and felt small silver pinpricks of light burn into my retina from the instant I saw her. I blinked a few times, allowing them to fade.

I removed the ring quickly before she had the chance to turn. By then, I had tapered my expression from a look of shock and horror down to moderately visible discomfort. “Ah, so you're admiring my new piece,” Vizea quipped. “Is it not a beautiful painting? I am very proud of it.” The covering had been removed. It was indeed finished. It was horrid. I don't wish to describe it here. May another living soul never be forced to look on it again.

“Do you have my locket?” I asked, still missing the weight of it against my neck.

“Oh yes, of course,” she said, pulling it seemingly from nowhere. “It is an imperfect reproduction, of course, but it is very accurate considering how tiny it is. Come, sit down.” She motioned to the seats behind her, still set up from yesterday's talk.

“Thanks,” I said, grabbing the platinum one and spinning it around. The sweets on the table were gone, though. A pity. “I paid a lot for this necklace, you know?” I had. Perhaps now it would finally be paying me back dividends. “What do you remember? Where can I find Kazzerath?”

Vizea snickered under her breath. It wasn't a good look for her. “I know where to find this demon, of course. However, I think it would not be wise for me to send you to it so soon.”

“You need me to wait? If you need time to bring it here, I'll wait as long as I have to.”

“No, you misunderstand. You are not worthy of gracing this demon's presence.”

I felt bile start to rise up in my throat, but swallowed it, the image of Vizea's true form still in the back of my mind. “What do you mean? Look, you don't need to summon it here, just tell me where-”

“You are dealing with forces outside of your control. This is an entity that has the intelligence and the ability to strike back against you if you do so much as even scry at it. I would not trifle with such a being carelessly, for no benefit to myself.”

Vizea leaned her hand on her chin, staring at me in a curious way. “However, if you were to bring me a tribute, I might consider your offer.”

“It's a fee? You charge for this service?”

“Of course. How do you think can I afford all of this,” she gestured airily around the room, “without being fairly compensated for my abilities?”

“Well, your paintings, I assumed. Fine art sells for quite a lot.”

“Yes, they do bring in a tidy sum of gold. Not enough to pay for what I need, however. To you, I might be Lady Vizea, the hermit artist, but in other circles, many know me by my preferred title: the demonologist.”

“That might not be giving you enough credit, if this village is anything to go by.”

“Oh, you flatter me, dragon boy. But I digress.” She straightened in her chair. “If you wish to know the location of the demon 'Kazzerath', you shall forfeit a sum of sixty-thousand gold pieces, or twice that amount in magical items.”

“That's insane! Who would pay that?”

“Many would. Including you, I'd wager. You want to kill this demon, yes? Want it more than anything else in the world, yes?”

If I had the money she'd been asking, I might have said yes on the spot. As it were, I had no way of ever getting that much money. I'd need to go somewhere where the cash flowed, where there was always work, and I'd need to get lucky as hell. Even then, it was a slim chance. Might take years, or longer.

“Even if you had the money, small one, you'd be crushed immediately. You could never hope to stand up to this demon as you are now. I will not allow you to do something so dangerous, only to send you to your death. Even I have a conscience, you know.”

I doubted that very much. “Fine. I'll come back with that money. And I'll come back as the strongest son of a bitch you've ever seen, how's that sound?”

“Sounds like a day to look forward to.” A hungry look came into Vizea's eyes. “I'll be waiting.” She raised her hand. Her emerald eyes flashed blue for only a moment-

And I found myself standing outside in the rain, on the path to Vizea's house, facing away. My clothes were immediately soaked. I spun around. The two guards stood, Jim and Not-Jim, stoic as ever.

“How did I get here?” I asked.

“You just did,” Not-Jim said.

“You've gotta expect that sorta' thing 'round here, 'aint'cha?” Jim said.

I suppose they were right.

Peniless and cold, I made my way back to Little Ivywood, looking for another lead. My work was done here, for now. I hadn't come away with what I'd been looking for, but at least I still had my health and my wits. It could be worse I suppose. At least I hadn't fallen out of an airship or something.


End file.
